"'And what then?'
"'Ah! what then? But I fear I have wearied you with my story. I am sorry. Good-night!'
"He dropped on to his blankets, curled himself up, and spoke no more. Only the crackling of the burning logs disturbed the silence.
"Just before dawn I was awakened by the sound of gentlest music—the same weird melody we had heard earlier in the evening. It began, but was never finished.
"Unseen by us, a thick glaze was creeping over the player's eyes, and his supple fingers were stiffening in the grasp of Death. The music grew fainter, and still more faint, until finally it merged itself into a thick, monotonous drip—drip—drip, which caught the first red signs of day as they stole into us under the old hut door.
"Then there was a curiously heavy sob, and a half-turn of the musician's figure. After which a long, keen-bladed knife fell from the table, and the clatter roused us both to action.
"But Yadeski was beyond the reach of human vengeance. He had severed a vein in his arm, and so bled peacefully to death. Quo cunque nomine de mortuis nil nisi bonum loqua.
"See, here comes the moon, and the wind with her. You'd better take this extra blanket. It will be cold before dawn.
"Hark! The horses have crossed the creek and are making towards the hut we've just been talking of. They will be miles away in the morning. Never mind! Good-night!"