"I hope so. That I shall know better than you within the space of four-and-twenty hours. I'm afraid you mistake your mission here. You came to marry Antony, not to bury Cæsar." Then, turning to me, he said with a flare of his old reckless wit: "Any time this six weeks you've been qualifying for the noose. If you're quite ready we'll have the obsequies to-night." He put Aileen's hand in mine. The vicar married us, the Prince of Wales giving away the bride. Aileen's pale face was shot with a faint flush, a splash of pink in either alabaster cheek. When the priest had made us man and wife she, who had just married me, leaned forward impulsively and kissed our former enemy on the forehead. The humorous gleam came back to his dulling eyes. "Only one, Montagu. I dare say you can spare that. The rest are for a better man. Don't cry, Aileen. 'Fore Heaven, 'tis a good quittance for you." He looked at the soft warmth and glow of her, now quickened to throbbing life, drew a long breath, then smiled and sighed again, her lover even to the last. A long silence fell, which Sir Robert broke by saying with a smile, "In case Selwyn calls show him up. If I am still alive I'll want to see him, and if I'm dead he'll want to see me. 'Twill interest him vastly." Once more only he spoke. "The shadow falls," he said to Aileen, and presently dozed fitfully; so slipped gradually into the deeper sleep from which there is no awakening this side of the tomb. Thus he passed quietly to the great beyond, an unfearing cynic to the last hour of his life. THE AFTERWORD My pardon came next day, duly signed and sealed, with the customary rider to it that I must renounce the Stuarts, and swear allegiance to King George. I am no hero of romance, but a plain Englishman, a prosaic lover of roast beef and old claret, of farming and of fox-hunting. Our cause was dead, and might as well be buried. Not to make long of the matter, I took the oath without scruple. To my pardon there was one other proviso: that I must live on my estate until further notice. If at any time I were found ten miles from Montagu Grange, the pardon was to be void. Aileen and I moved to our appointed home at once. It may be believed that our hearts were full of the most tender joy and love, for I had been snatched from the jaws of death into the very sunshine of life. We had but one cloud to mar the bright light--the death of many a dear friend, and most of all, of that friendly enemy who had given his life for her good name. Moralists point out to me that he was a great sinner. I care not if it be so. Let others condemn him; I do not. Rather I cherish the memory of a gallant, faultful gentleman whose life found wrong expression. There be some to whom are given inheritance of evil nature. Then how dare we, who know not the measure of their temptation, make ourselves judges of their sin?