The cryptic utterance revealed itself to Roland's mind as clear as daylight. He, himself, was of the seventh generation from the original event, and sure, indeed, was it that two women had saved him--one upon the lone sea coast, and one, indeed, from a still more hideous form of the bloodless Death. And so deciding, he was conscious of a relief that was hardly in keeping with his former scepticism. Such thoughts, not for the first time, are underlying his mind as he sits at the head of his bright and sparkling dinner-table here this evening. Then Marsland's voice breaks in upon his meditations. "Before we separate, I want to propose a health, one specially appropriate this evening. Are you all charged? Well then--A health! Dorrien of Cranston?" Hearty, spontaneous, and sharp is the response. "A health! Dorrien of Cranston!" The End.