ached over her, striving to take hold of the packet
which she held behind her. The boat rocked; and, as much in rage as
fear, she screamed.

A cry uttered wholly in rage answered hers; it came from Carlat. La
Tribe, however, whose whole mind was fixed on the packet, did not heed,
nor would have heeded, the steward. But the next moment a second cry,
fierce as that of a wild beast, clove the air from the lower and farther
bank; and the Huguenot, recognizing Count Hannibal's voice, involuntarily
desisted and stood erect. A moment the boat rocked perilously under him;
then--for unheeded it had been drifting that way--it softly touched the
bank on which Carlat stood staring and aghast.

La Tribe's chance was gone; he saw that the steward must reach him before
he could succeed in a second attempt. On the other hand, the undergrowth
on the bank was thick, he could touch it with his hand, and if he fled at
once he might escape.

He hung an instant irresolute; then, with a look which went to the
Countess's heart, he sprang ashore, plunged among the alders, and in a
moment was gone.

"After him! After him!" thundered Count Hannibal. "After him, man!" and
Carlat, stumbling down the steep slope and through the rough briars, did
his best to obey. But in vain. Before he reached the water's edge, the
noise of the fugitive's retreat had grown faint. A few seconds and it
died away.

CHAPTER XXII. PLAYING WITH FIRE.

The impulse of La Tribe's foot as he landed had driven the boat into the
stream. It drifted slowly downward, and if naught intervened, would take
the ground on Count Hannibal's side, a hundred and fifty yards below him.
He saw this, and walked along the bank, keeping pace with it, while the
Countess sat motionless, crouching in the stern of the craft, her fingers
strained about the fatal packet. The slow glide of the boat, as almost
imperceptibly it approached the low bank; the stillness of the mirror-
like surface on which it moved, leaving only the faintest ripple behind
it; the silence--for under the influence of emotion Count Hannibal too
was mute--all were in tremendous contrast with the storm which raged in
her breast.

Should she--should she even now, with his eyes on her, drop the letters
over the side? It needed but a movement. She had only to extend her
hand, to relax the tension of her fingers, and the deed was done. It
needed only that; but the golden sands of opportunity were runn