They were right, for the calm had come. Seated hand in hand, Stratton had told Myra in the soft, dim light of evening, while the waters murmured at her feet, all the tangle of his troubles, and she had literally forced him to tell her all again and again, for the narrative was never tedious to her as a twice told tale, while the knowledge of all that he had suffered for her sake drew the bond between them in a faster knot. On this particular morning, when all was bright and sunny, there yet was one cloud near, for a servant came out from the cottage to say that monsieur was wanted. Stratton sprang up, and Myra rose and clung to his arm, her eyes dilating with the dread of some new trouble. But he at once calmed her. "There can be no trouble now that we could not meet," he whispered; and she sank back in her seat to watch him till he disappeared within the door. The officer who had arrested Henderson was standing in the little room Stratton used, and with him a thin, earnest looking man in black, who seemed to wear an official uniform as well as air. Bows were exchanged, and then the latter produced some papers. "I have come, monsieur, respecting the man Barron-Dale," he said in very good English. "As you know, monsieur, we have been in communication with the English authorities, and, as we have reported to you from time to time, there has been a reluctance on their part to investigate the matter." "Yes, I have heard all this," said Stratton, trying to be calm. "They were disposed to treat him as an impostor, and at last sent us word definitely that Barron-Dale and Henderson certainly died in their attempt to escape from your great prison. The correspondence has gone on, monsieur, till now, and I believe that the English authorities were about to send an officer to investigate the matter; but, as you have been informed, the man has been growing worse and worse while ill in the infirmary of the prison at Barville. Yesterday he had a bad attack--a fit." He paused for a moment or two, looking gravely at Stratton. "The difficulty is solved now, monsieur," said the officer gravely. "He did not recover from the fit. Our doctors have found the cause of those attacks--a pistol bullet was imbedded close to the brain." "The bullet from his own pistol," thought Stratton. "The shot he meant for me." A few minutes after Stratton left the officer, and went straight to where Myra was waiting, trembling with excitement. "There is some fresh peril, Malcolm," she cried as she caught his hand. "No, dearest," he said slowly; "the last cloud has passed away." THE END. End of Project Gutenberg's Witness to the Deed, by George Manville Fenn