The sound of a horse's gallop upon the hard soil could be distinctly heard. They ran. A sloping bank of moderate elevation divided the wood from the plateau. This they climbed half way with the help of trailing branches; screened then by the bushes and the foliage, they beheld before them a most impressive spectacle. At a short distance to the left, Julia was coming on at break-neck speed; she was following the oblique line of the woods, apparently shaping her course straight toward the edge of the cliff. They thought at first that her horse had run away, but they saw that she was lashing him with her whip to further accelerate his speed. She was still some hundred paces from the two men, and she was about passing before them. Lucan was preparing to leap to the other side of the bank, when the hand of Monsieur de Moras fell violently upon his arm and held him back--firmly. They looked at each other. Lucan was amazed at the profound alteration that had suddenly contracted the count's features and sunken his eyes; he read at the same time in his fixed gaze an immense sorrow, but also an immovable resolve. He understood that there was no longer any secret between them. He yielded to that glance, which, so far as he was concerned--he felt sure of that--conveyed nothing but an expression of confidence and friendly supplication. He grasped his friend's hand within his own and remained motionless. The horse shot by within a few steps of them, his flanks white with foam, while Julia, beautiful, graceful, and charming still in that terrible moment, sat lightly upon the saddle. Within a few feet of the edge of the cliff, the horse, scenting the danger, shied violently and wheeled around in a semi-circle. She led him back upon the plateau, and, urging him both with whip and voice, she started him again toward the yawning chasm. Lucan felt Monsieur de Moras' nails cutting into his flesh. At last the horse was conquered; the ground gave way under his hind feet, which only met the vacant space. He fell backward; his fore legs pawed the air convulsively. The next moment the plateau was empty. No sound had been heard. In that deep chasm the fall had been noiseless and death instantaneous. [THE END.] THE STORY OF A FIGHT FOR A THRONE D'Artagnan, the King Maker By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Written originally by Dumas as a play, and now for the first time novelized and translated into English. _The Philadelphia Enquirer says_: "A pretty love story in which the debonair cavalier falls victim to Cupid's wiles is one of the interesting threads running through the book." _The Chicago Record-Herald says_: "It is singular that this bit of romance has been suffered to remain hidden away for so long a time. D'Artagnan's manner of winning the hermit kingdom contains enough thrills to repay a careful reading. The story oozes adventure at every chapter." _The Brooklyn Eagle says_: