I thought that fear had made him lose his wits, and I dared not tell him that besides that dead man, the house held also a dead woman, our poor, faithful Davies. "She is out of danger," I answered. We had, by some miracle, found our way to a place where the wall, which fortified St. Salvat's, was partly broken at the top, and overgrown by bushes. With a decision I should never have expected from him, and an extraordinary degree of strength and agility, my husband climbed on to the wall, pulled me up, let himself drop into the dry ditch beyond, and received me in his arms. Then, seizing me again by the hand, we started off once more at a mad run through the wood, stumbling and tearing ourselves against the branches. "Up the knoll!" he repeated. "I must see! I must see!" And he seemed to me quite mad. Once at the top of the knoll, he stopped. It was wooded all the way up, but just here was an open space of grass burrowed by rabbits and set with stunted junipers. It was full in sight of St. Salvat's, and if ever there could be a dangerous place to stop in, it was this. But Eustace pointed to the wet grass, "Sit down," he said, and sat down himself, after looking at his watch again. "There are five minutes more," he repeated, remaining, despite my entreaties, seated on the soft ground among the rabbit holes, his face turned to St. Salvat's. "You are sure Davies is safe?" he asked, again drawing out his watch. "Davies is dead," I answered, counting on the effect it would have on him, "Hubert had murdered her ... before ... I...." Eustace's eye kindled strangely. "Ah! is it so?" he cried, "Then poor Davies will have a splendid funeral! All I regret is that that villain should share in the honour." So saying, he started up on to his feet, and pulling out his watch, looked from it to the towers and battlements nestled in the trees of the hollow beneath us. "Half past seven less a minute, less half a minute, less ... Now!" he cried. As if he had shouted a word of command, an enormous sheet of flame leapt up into the air, like the flash at a cannon's mouth; the hill shook and the air bellowed, and we fell back half stunned. When I could see once more, my husband was standing at the brink of the knoll, his arms folded, and looking calmly before him. The outline of towers and battlements had entirely disappeared; and only the skeletons of the great trees, black and branchless, stood out like the broken masts of wrecked vessels against the distant pale and misty sea. "I have burnt out their nest. My house shall be polluted no more," said my husband very quietly. And then, kissing me as we stood on the brink of the green sward, with the rain falling gently upon us, "Come, Penelope," he added taking my hands, "we are outlaws and felons; but we have saved our liberty and our honour." And, hand in hand, we walked swiftly but quietly towards the high road to Milford. * * * * *