s he could after the fugitive.

That fugitive, in order to gain the river, was compelled to run
obliquely, and thus he gave an additional advantage to his pursuer,
who tried to head him off, and thus was able to gain on him by some
additional paces. But to Gualtier that river-bank was now the place
of salvation, and that was at any rate a last resort. Besides this,
his pistol still was in his hand, and in it there still remained two
shots, which might yet avail him at the last moment. Onward, then, he
bounded with frantic exertions while these thoughts sped through his
mind. But, mingled with these, there came strange floating thoughts
of that figure in the carriage--that one who had met with a wondrous
resurrection from the death to which he had sent her, and who was now
looking on at his flight, and the pursuit of her avenger. All these
various thoughts swept confusedly through his brain in the madness of
that hour; for thus it is that often, when death seems to impend, the
mind becomes endowed with colossal powers, and all the events of a
stormy and agitated life can be crowded into one moment. Now, as
Gualtier fled, and as he contrived his plan of escape by the river,
there were in his mind, parallel with these thoughts, others of equal
power--thoughts of that fair young girl whom he had cast adrift in a
sinking ship on the wide midnight sea. Saved she had been, beyond a
doubt, for there she was, with her eyes fixed on him in his agony.
Avenged she would be also, unless he could escape that terrible
pursuer who now every moment came faster and faster behind.

Avenged? No, not yet. Still there was a chance. The river flowed near
with its full stream. The opposite shores seemed to invite him; the
trees and groves and vineyards there seemed to beckon him onward. At
last his feet were on the bank. One plunge, he thought, arid he would
be safe. But for one instant he delayed that plunge. There were other
desires in his heart than that of safety--there was the desire for
vengeance. Still there was a chance left. His pistol was in his
hand--it yet held two shots. In these he might find both safety and
vengeance.

Suddenly he turned as he reached the bank, and instantaneously he
discharged the last shots of the pistol at his pursuer. Then he
plunged headlong into the river.

Another pursuer, even if he had not fallen, might have faltered at
all these pistol-shots. Not so Obed. To him the revolver was a
familiar thing--