g behind no stain, trace, or record! A
surer oblivion than the Church, which could not absolve memory, grant
forgetfulness, nor even hide the ghastly footprints of its occupants.
Here was obliteration. But was he sure of that? He thought of the body
of the murdered Peruvian, laid out at the feet of the Council by this
same fickle and uncertain sea; he thought of his own distorted face
subjected to the cold curiosity of these aliens or the contemptuous pity
of his countrymen. But that could be avoided. It was easy for him--a
good swimmer--to reach a point far enough out in the channel for the
ebbing tides to carry him past that barrier of fog into the open and
obliterating ocean. And then, at least, it might seem as if he had
attempted to ESCAPE--indeed, if he cared, he might be able to keep
afloat until he was picked up by some passing vessel, bound to a distant
land! The self-delusion pleased him, and seemed to add the clinching
argument to his resolution. It was not suicide; it was escape--certainly
no more than escape--he intended! And this miserable sophism of
self-apology, the last flashes of expiring conscience, helped to light
up his pale, determined face with satisfaction. He began coolly to
divest himself of his coat.

What was that?--the sound of some dislodged stones splashing in one
of the pools further up! He glanced hurriedly round the wall of the
bastion. A figure crouching against the side of the ditch, as if
concealing itself from observation on the glacis above, was slowly
approaching the sea. Suddenly, when within a hundred yards of Hurlstone,
it turned, crossed the ditch, rapidly mounted its crumbling sides,
and disappeared over the crest. But in that hurried glimpse he had
recognized Captain Bunker!

The sudden and mysterious apparition of this man produced on Hurlstone
an effect that the most violent opposition could not have created.
Without a thought of the terrible purpose it had interrupted, and
obeying some stronger instinct that had seized him, he dashed down into
the ditch and up to the crest again after Captain Bunker. But he had
completely disappeared. A little lagoon, making in from the bay, on
which a small fishing-boat was riding, and a solitary fisherman mending
his nets on the muddy shore a few feet from it, were all that was to be
seen.

He was turning back, when he saw the object of his search creeping from
some reeds, on all fours, with a stealthy, panther-like movement towards