She left her hand quietly in his, and he raised it to his lips and kissed it. “Farewell,” he said; “but hereafter, when thou thinkest of me, remember that my last words were true, and that the man who loved thee was not the man who did this wrong.” Then he turned, and, without a word, plunged into the sea. In a moment bitter repentance seized on Daphne’s mind. Her memory was filled with recollections of the kindness of the man. “Come back! come back!” she cried. “I believe thee! I love thee!” But there was no answer, save the lapping of the waves on the shore. EPILOGUE. I, Xenophilos, physician and philosopher, having wandered forth to meditate by the sea, found Daphne in a swoon. For many years she lived affected by what appeared to be a curious madness, but before her death she seemed to recover somewhat, and out of her narrative I have, with difficulty, pieced together this history. I will only add that the body of a man, like one of the Egyptian merchants, was afterwards washed ashore. Near the spot, and many years after, some divers found the remains of a curious, unintelligible mechanical contrivance, partly destroyed by the sea. APPENDIX. (_The last chapter of ‘Thoth’ as originally written in 1876. See Preface._) Philetos lay dreaming—dreaming that he was still hunting the lion. And it seemed to him that after slaying numbers of inferior animals, he lighted on one of an immense size, which, as soon as he came into view, fled to the mountains. He chased it through mighty forests, followed it across foaming torrents, and at last on a lofty barren table-land, he appeared to be fast approaching it. But the lion, roaring terribly, suddenly rushed away, and in the distance he could see it like an insect on the grass. Bravely and persistently he followed, however, and at last saw that the lion was standing on the edge of a precipice, or rather precipitous incline, at the base of which was a deep black lake; and it seemed to be in doubt whether to turn and try and rend its pursuer, or to yield to fear and rush blindly over the abyss. On Philetos rushed, with spear ready to his hand, and he was now within a few yards of the beast, when suddenly it sprang down the mountain-side, as if panic-struck. In its course it loosened immense rocks, which formed an avalanche, following close on its track. Philetos, with straining eyes and ears expecting the shock of the rocks falling on the water, stood at the edge of the abyss. At length the lion fell into the lake, and in a moment the terrific splash of the avalanche was heard. Then Philetos awoke, and springing up from his couch, stood up, with the noise still roaring in his ears. But on awakening he had entirely forgotten the lion, and he thought that he had surely heard the fall of immense rocks into water. He looked on the sunlight that streamed through his chamber windows, and tried to shake off his terror; for