rying to rise he groaned out, 'My God! My
God! She is dead! Lord have pity upon her murderer!' and down he fell
again as in a swoon and pressed his sobbing lips against the cold
flags, and seemed to have utterly forgotten that any one stood by and
saw it all.

"And meanwhile there was the picture on the wall standing silent and
stately, and in its bloom of bliss and youth looking down upon the poor
sinner.

"'Domenico,' said the captain, gently drawing near, binding over him,
and laying a hand on his shoulder, 'neither of us can call her back,
and what we have to do is to get through our remnant of life. If you
will take my advice you will leave this country and cross the seas.
There is war going on in Africa, and the French need brave men. Your
crime--I forgive it, and there is One who weighs with other scales than
we do, who sees your heart and knows how you repent and suffer. If I
can help you in any way to get off, and fling your past behind you,
tell me. You shall find a brother in me.'

"Il Rosso had meanwhile risen, and was now standing with face averted
from the picture, gazing hopelessly into the night. At these last words
of his rival he vehemently shook his head. 'It is over,' he replied.
'You and I are quits. The rest is my affair. You and I shall never meet
again, that I swear to you by her shadow. But leave this house in which
I can no longer protect you. With the others it is an affair of your
money and your fire-arms, they hanker after them. If they hear that it
was in my power to give you up to them, and that I have not done so,
they will never forgive me, and there are some of them who still carry
about the tokens of that first tussle we had. Take care of yourself,
and good night to you. Yon have seen the last of me.'

"He bent down, picked up his gun, and with one last look at the picture
that in serene beauty shone out in the moonlight, glided from the room.

"The captain heard him go slowly down the stairs, step by step, and
when outside, open the iron gate and lock it again. Then the night was
once more still as death. He required some time to collect himself. He
felt, he said, as though he had been thrown down from a high tower and
had reached the ground without broken limbs indeed, but unable to move
from sheer giddiness. For awhile he lay half fainting on his couch, but
the streak of blood on the moonlit floor reminded him of his wound. He
roused himself to call Maddalena to bring him water