"Guise," cried Ortez, giving the watchword of that day of slaughter. The drawbridge lowered, and open swung the gates. "Welcome to Cartillon, d'Artin," Ortez bowed. "Here at last we find rest and refreshment. Let a feast be spread in the great hall, ransack the place for good cheer. We've done brave work this glorious day, my lads, and a merry ending we'll have before the night is gone." Everywhere in the courtyard were evidences of bloody conflict. Singly, in groups and in hideous crimson-splashed piles lay Catholics and Huguenots together, peaceful enough in death. "By my faith, and a gallant set of gentlemen we have here," laughed Ortez. "What think you, brother mine?" And even as he spoke he leaned from his saddle to strike down a half dying wretch who lifted his head from among the slain. "Perez," he called to his sergeant riding behind him, "dispose of these bodies. Throw the heretic dogs into the old well yonder. Give our martyred friends Christian burial." He sat his horse idly toying with his dagger, and forced me to watch my servants, the wounded and the dead, being cast into the yawning darkness of the well. "God's blood! here is our sweet young Philip. What, not yet dead! Why, it matters not, cast him in." This in answer to a questioning look from the more merciful Perez. The men at arms had extricated from a heap of slain the limp body of my youngest brother, a boy of twenty, his pallid face gaping open from a cut across the cheek. He lifted his eyes languidly to mine. "Oh brother, you are come. Some water, water," he murmured. "Throw him in, men," Ortez interrupted. Perez yet hesitated. "Shall we not first dispatch him, sire?" "No, I would not harm my gentle brother; throw him in. Be not slow about it either, thou chicken-hearted bullies; pitch him in." The men started to obey this savage order. "Hound of hell!" I screamed, tortured beyond endurance, and struggling at my bonds. Ortez slapped me in the face with his gauntlet, then laying his hand upon my shoulder said with assumed gentleness: "Calm yourself, my dear brother; think of your unbandaged wounds; they may bleed afresh." Philip was conscious as the men bore him to the edge of the well, but powerless to resist four stout fellows who cast him headlong amongst the dead and dying to mingle his groans and blood with theirs. Oh, that God should permit to men such deeds, and grant that men should witness them! When the last body had been disposed of, Ortez led the way to the banquet hall, inviting all his rabble to join the feast. The banquet hall, used as it was to scenes of turbulence, never perhaps had looked upon such a throng as that. I occupied the head of my own table, strapped helpless in my seat. On either side were vacant chairs. Ortez sat at the foot. Between, the soldiery ranged themselves as they pleased. One of the troopers coming in late would have taken his place beside me, but his Captain stopped him: