It became impossible that I should escape too hastily with my friend, therefore we concealed ourselves .... de Coray and his devil’s imp seeking us all the time..... To-night"—the blood in his throat well-nigh choked him as he spoke—"to-night—we—we...." [#] The nickname of Pierre Laudais, the hated and infamous minister of François II., Duke of Brittany. The angry nobles at last took justice into their own hands, and hanged the miscreant who had ruined their country. He stared vaguely up at the moon—already the finger of death was resting on his shoulder. "But my brother—Yvon—he lives? Oh, where—where is he?" cried Gwennola, whose emotions had scarcely been controlled during the gasping confession which seemed to foreshadow forth so grim a tragedy. "Speak!" But already death had sealed those lips with his cold kiss, only with a convulsive effort the man raised his arm and pointed towards one of the heaps of piled stones which gleamed white in the moonlight halfway up the opposite slope. Then a spasm seized him, and he lay in the last dread struggle, with his black eyes fixed upwards in horror, as if around him he saw crowding the reproachful victims of a sinful life, gathering about to arraign him before the dread Judge Who awaited him beyond the veil. Falling on her knees, Gwennola whispered a prayer into the dying ears, till, with one last gasping groan, the jaws relaxed, the dark eyes, still terror-haunted, became fixed, and a soul fled forth in shame and awe into the silence of eternity. With a sob—the outcome of overwrought nerves—the young girl rose to her feet, and stood looking from the dead man at her feet towards the rude cairn which seemed to form so poor a clue to her search. And yet her heart beat rapidly as she thought of what that search might mean, and recalled that not only a brother’s but a lover’s life lay as a guerdon for success. Then with a low breathed prayer she hastened to turn and scramble up the slope towards the spot indicated by the dead man’s finger. *CHAPTER IX*