The doorbell rang, but the others did not hear it; it was on the south door on the other side of the house from the study. Rebecca, after hesitating until the bell rang the second time, went to the door; she remembered that the servant was out. Caroline and her sister Emma entered the study. Caroline set the lamp on the table. They looked at the wall, and there were two shadows. The sisters stood clutching each other, staring at the awful things on the wall. Then Rebecca came in, staggering, with a telegram in her hand. "Here is--a telegram," she gasped. "Henry is--dead." The Messenger BY ROBERT W. CHAMBERS Little gray messenger, Robed like painted Death, Your robe is dust. Whom do you seek Among lilies and closed buds At dusk? Among lilies and closed buds At dusk, Whom do you seek, Little gray messenger, Robed in the awful panoply Of painted Death? R.W.C. From _The Mystery of Choice_, by Robert W. Chambers. Published, 1897, by D. Appleton and Company. Copyright by Robert W. Chambers. By permission of Robert W. Chambers. All-wise, Hast thou seen all there is to see with thy two eyes? Dost thou know all there is to know, and so, Omniscient, Darest thou still to say thy brother lies? R.W.C. I "The bullet entered here," said Max Fortin, and he placed his middle finger over a smooth hole exactly in the center of the forehead. I sat down upon a mound of dry seaweed and unslung my fowling piece. The little chemist cautiously felt the edges of the shot-hole, first with his middle finger, and then with his thumb. "Let me see the skull again," said I. Max Fortin picked it up from the sod. "It's like all the others," he repeated, wiping his glasses on his handkerchief. "I thought you might care to see one of the skulls, so I brought this over from the gravel pit. The men from Bannalec are digging yet. They ought to stop." "How many skulls are there altogether?" I inquired. "They found thirty-eight skulls; there are thirty-nine noted in the list. They lie piled up in the gravel pit on the edge of Le Bihan's wheat field. The men are at work yet. Le Bihan is going to stop them." "Let's go over," said I; and I picked up my gun and started across the cliffs, Portin on one side, Mome on the other. "Who has the list?" I asked, lighting my pipe. "You say there is a list?" "The list was found rolled up in a brass cylinder," said the chemist. He added: "You should not smoke here. You know that if a single spark drifted into the wheat--" "Ah, but I have a cover to my pipe," said I, smiling. Fortin watched me as I closed the pepper-box arrangement over the glowing bowl of the pipe. Then he continued: