ent and angry
at the idea of being played with. "Come, sir, you are my master, it
seems. Make an end of this."

"Do not be in a hurry," replied St. Renan, with a deadly smile, "it
will come soon enough. There! will that suit you?"

And with the word he made a treble feint and lounged home. So true was
the thrust that the point pierced the very cavity of his heart. So
strongly was it sent home that the hilt smote heavily on his
breast-bone. He did not speak or groan, but drew one short, broken
sigh, and fell dead on the instant.

"The fool!" muttered St. Renan. "Wherefore did he meddle where he had
no business? But what the devil shall I do with him? He must not be
found, or all will out--and that were ruin."

As he spoke, a distant clap of thunder was heard to the eastward, and
a few heavy drops of rain began to fall, while a heavy mass of black
thunder-clouds began to rise rapidly against the wind.

"There will be a fierce storm in ten minutes, which will soon wash out
all this evidence," he said, looking down at the trampled and
blood-stained greensward. "One hour hence, and there will not be a
sign of this, if I can but dispose of him. Ha!" he added, as a quick
thought struck him, "The Devil's Drinking-Cup! Enough! it is done!"

Within a minute's space he had swathed the corpse tightly in the
cloak, which had fallen from the wretched man's shoulders as the fray
began, bound it about the waist by the scarf, to which he attached
firmly an immense block of stone, which lay at the brink of the
fearful well, which was now--for the tide was up--brimful of white
boiling surf, and holding his breath atween resolution and abhorrence,
hurled it into the abyss.

It sunk instantly, so well was the stone secured to it; and the fate
of the Chevalier de Pontrien never was suspected, for that fatal pool
never gave up its dead, nor will until the judgment-day.

Meantime the flood-gates of heaven were opened, and a mimic torrent,
rushing down the dark glen, soon obliterated every trace of that
stern, short affray.

Calmly Raoul strode homeward, and untouched by any conscience, for
those were hard and ruthless times, and he had undergone so much wrong
at the hands of his victim's nearest relatives, and dearest friends,
that it was no great marvel if his blood were heated, and his heart
pitiless.

"I will have masses said for his soul in Paris," he muttered to
himself; and therewith, thinking that he had more than discharge