Eli Kirke received at the hands of royalists that he should be merciful
to them?

I thought of firing the prison; but the walls were stone, and the night
wet, and the outcome doubtful.

I thought of the cell window; but if there had been any hope that way,
M. Picot had worked an escape.

Bowing my head to think--to pray--to imprecate, I lost all sense of
time and place. Some one had slipped quietly into the dark of the
church. I felt rather than saw a nearing presence. But I paid no
heed, for despair blotted out all thought. Whoever it was came feeling
a way down the dark aisle.

Then hot tears fell upon my hands. In the gloom there paused a
childlike figure.

"Rebecca!"

She panted out a wordless cry. Then she came closer and laid a hand on
my arm. She was struggling to subdue sobs. The question came in a
shivering breath.

"Is Hortense--so dear?"

"So dear, Rebecca."

"She must be wondrous happy, Ramsay." A tumult of effort. "If I could
only take her place----"