“‘Yes, Captain Monteith, he is dead, and though I have seen many men die I never saw one face death with such perfectly calm indifference as did your friend.’
“‘He gave the order to the platoon to fire, and fell instantly; but, ere he died, he wrote this note to you,’ and the American Imperialist handed a slip of paper to Capoul, and, turning, left the tent.
“In Garnet’s bold hand was written—
“‘Capoul,—I gave my life away to save you, for I loved Mabel too dearly ever to let her brother die where I could be sacrificed instead. I dare tell you this now, for I stand on the brink of my open grave. Farewell!—Garnet.’
“A bitter night of sorrow passed Capoul Monteith in that lonely tent, for well he knew his friend had spoken the truth, and when months after the star of Maximilian’s crown had set in gloom, and he resigned from the army of the successful Juarez, he wended his way homeward with a heavy heart, for he could not forget that Mexican soil covered the noble man who had fallen a sacrifice to save his life.
“Three years passed away after the game for life or death, and one pleasant evening, toward the sunset-hour, a horseman was riding slowly along a highway, traversing a fertile valley of a South-western State.
“Three years had added more dignity to the face, and perhaps saddened it; but otherwise no change had ever come over Capoul Monteith’s fine features.
“Upon his right hand, setting back from the road, was a pretty little farmhouse, surrounded by fertile fields, and the sight promising well for a night’s lodging for man and beast,’ Capoul turned in at the white gateway, and rode up to the front door, and dismounted.
“The owner of the mansion descended the steps to greet him, and Capoul Monteith stood face to face with Garnet Weston!
“‘My God! has the grave given up its dead?’ cried Capoul, in dismay.