DeNortier had arisen, and following him, I passed down to where the sailor lay. The face of the man was stern and set, as he had looked when he was wrestling with the animal. He had had no time for preparation; as he lived, so had he also died. We looked at him for a moment. Only a few brief minutes before he had been among us, in the prime of his magnificent manhood; now he lay there cold and stiff, fit food for the worms and foul reptiles of the earth. Turning to the pirates, the Count ordered them to remove both the man and the beast, and he made his way back to his seat without so much as another glance. I lingered a moment where the Indian lay upon the body of the animal, his arm locked about its rough head. Here was love, deep and deathless. The rough sailors were removing the body of one whom they had eaten and caroused with, one who had faced death with them many a time, a comrade and friend, and yet they knew no such love as this. True they stepped softly and spoke in low voices, but that was out of their awe for the unknown; of that cold hand which had beckoned to one with whom they had feasted to leave the board, and he could but obey. But the poor untaught savage loved the wild beast whom he had trained and fed. His love was something higher, finer, nobler than they could know; and treading softly, I stood by his side with uncovered head and dropped a coin beside him. But he did not move, and quietly I passed back to where DeNortier sat. Some wise man hath said truly that "in the midst of life we are in death." He was one who knew of the secrets of the soul, had drank deep of the wine of understanding, and who realized how uncertain is our brief hour. They had carried out both the sailor and the bear, together with the Indian, who had refused to leave his pet, when the door opened and Oliver appeared, the package in his hand. "I would have returned sooner," he panted, as he extended it towards me, "but the chest was heavy, and I had much work to move it; for the package had slipped under the bottom, and it was some time before I could discover where it lay." "Why didst thou not call for aid?" I asked, as I cut the cord with which it was secured. "It was not necessary," he answered, his eye upon me; plainly he thought that I had some reason for remaining behind. "Here is the proof," I said, as I turned to the Count and laid the bundle of papers upon the table. It contained the diary and all the notes, save that of my lady, which had lain next my heart ever since I had discovered it. He took the package, and opening it, began methodically to read the papers.