Detricand dropped on his knee and took the wasted hand. Mr. Dow's eyes
were glazing fast. With a last effort he spoke--his voice like a
squeaking wind in a pipe:

"The Lord hath triumphed gloriously--" and he leaned forward to kiss
Detricand's hand.

But Death intervened, and his lips fell instead upon the red cross on
Detricand's breast, as he sank forward lifeless.

That night, after Lorenzo Dow was laid in his grave, Detricand read the
little black leather-covered journal bequeathed to him. Of the years of
his captivity the records were few; the book was chiefly concerned with
his career in Jersey. Detricand read page after page, more often with a
smile than not; yet it was the smile of one who knew life and would
scarce misunderstand the eccentric and honest soul of the Reverend
Lorenzo Dow.

Suddenly, however, he started, for he came upon these lines:

I have, in great privacy and with halting of spirit, married, this
twenty-third of January, Mr. Philip d'Avranche of His Majesty's ship
"Narcissus," and Mistress Guida Landresse de Landresse, both of this
Island of Jersey; by special license of the Bishop of Winchester.

To this was added in comment:

Unchurchmanlike, and most irregular. But the young gentleman's
tongue is gifted, and he pressed his cause heartily. Also Mr.
Shoreham of the Narcissus--"Mad Shoreham of Galway" his father was