aperture facing the sea, barely twenty feet below. A small
boat with a single man in it was there waiting.

"Dive!" cried Guiseppe. "We must not wait for the rope!"

Over they went almost simultaneously. The shock of the cold water
sent the blood dancing once more through Paul's veins. He came to the
surface just after his guide, cool and refreshed. They scrambled into
the boat, and Paul gave a little cry of wonder. They were drifting on
a sea of ruddy gold, and the space all around them was brilliant with
the reflection. High above, the flames were leaping up towards the
sky, and the dull sing-song of their roar set the very air vibrating.
Guiseppe, still dripping, seized an oar.

"Pull, for your lives! pull!" he cried anxiously.

His companion shrugged his shoulders. "But why?"

"Ask no questions! You will see!"

They did see. They were barely half-way to the yacht, when there came
the sound of a low rumbling from the castle. Suddenly it broke into a
roar. Belching sheets of flame burst out on every side. Huge cracks in
that brilliant light were suddenly visible in the walls, creeping in a
jagged line from the foundation to the turret. Fragments of the
stone work flew outwards and upwards. It seemed as though some mighty
internal force were splitting the place up. The men in the boat sat
breathless and transfixed. Only Guiseppe whispered: "It is the old
Count! He is the devil! He has blown the place up!"

There was another, and then a series of explosions. Fragments of the
rock and stone fell hissing into the water scarcely a hundred feet
away. Great waves rolled towards them. It seemed as though the earth
underneath were shaking. Then it all died away, and there was silence.
Only the blackened walls of the castle remained, with the dying flames
still curling fitfully around them. The air grew darker, and the
colour faded from the sea.

"It is the last of the Count of Cruta, and his castle of horrors!"
cried Guiseppe. "God be thanked!"

CHAPTER XXXVI

"LOVE THAN DEATH ITSELF MORE STRONG"

I had no thought of writing in you again, my silent friend. Only a
little while ago I said to myself, the time has gone by when solitude
and heart hunger could drive me to your pages for consolation. Only a
little while ago, it is true; and yet between the past and future is
fixed a mighty gulf. As I write these words I stand upon the threshold
of death! What death may mean, I know not! I have no religion to thr