He held her to him as if he would never let her go again. "Oh, my
Sweet, give me a last chance. Help me to be a better man! You have only
to will it, Iris, and to make me worthy of you."

His arms suddenly trembled round her, and dropped. The silence was
broken by a distant sound, like the report of a shot. He looked towards
the farther end of the wood. In a minute more, the thump of a horse's
hoofs at a gallop was audible, where the bridlepath was hidden among
the trees. It came nearer--nearer---the creature burst into view, wild
with fright, and carrying an empty saddle. Lord Harry rushed into the
path and seized the horse as it swerved at the sight of him. There was
a leather pocket attached to the front of the saddle. "Search it!" he
cried to Iris, forcing the terrified animal back on its haunches. She
drew out a silver travelling-flask. One glance at the name engraved on
it told him the terrible truth. His trembling hands lost their hold.
The horse escaped; the words burst from his lips:

"Oh, God, they've killed him!"

THE END OF THE PROLOGUE


THE STORY

FIRST PERIOD

CHAPTER I

THE SOUR FRENCH WINE