Just so when I recall that scene—­little heed as I took at the time of them—­every gesture, and look, and tone of Forrester’s becomes as distinct as if he stood in the body before me now.  I can see him standing in the shadow of the doorway, the red glare from the blazing wood with which he was lighting his cigar falling over his delicate features and bright chestnut hair—­I can hear his kind soft voice as he speaks these last two words, “Al rivederci.”

Whether that wish will be accomplished hereafter, God alone can tell; if so, it must be beyond the grave.  In life we never saw him any more.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

     “But time at length makes all things even,
     And if we do but bide the hour,
     There never yet was human power
       That could evade, if unforgiven,
     The patient search and vigil long
     Of him who treasures up a wrong.”

Three quarters of an hour later, Guy was sitting in his room, gazing at the embers on the hearth, in the attitude of moody thought that of late he was apt to fall into.  Suddenly there came a timid knock at his door.  When he opened it, his cousin stood on the threshold—­ghost-like, against the background of darkness, with her white dressing-gown, pale cheeks, and long hair unbound.

“Guy, don’t be angry,” she said; “it’s very foolish of me, I know; but Charley has not come in yet, and just now I am certain there was a shot quite near.  Aglaee heard nothing, but I did.  You know he always carries a pistol.  I made him do so.  It is nothing, I am sure; but I am so frightened.  If you would—­”

She tried to smile, but that ghastly look of terror that he had seen once before, long ago, in the library at Kerton Manor, again swept over, and possessed all her face like a white chill mist.

“Don’t be absurd, you silly child,” Guy said, kindly.  “Of course I’ll go out directly, and bring him in in five minutes, to laugh at you.  Now go back to your room; there’s nothing on earth to be alarmed about.”

But the instant she had gone, I heard his voice quick and stern:  “Frank, come here.”  There was a door of communication between our rooms, and, though it was closed, I had caught some words of this conversation, so I was ready nearly as soon as he.  Guy only staid to take a short lance-wood club, headed with a spiked steel head, which was his constant traveling companion—­a very simple weapon, but deadly in his hands as the axe of Richard the King—­and then we sallied out, taking our servants and some other men that were below, with torches, in case the moon should fail us unexpectedly.

Twice, three times, when we had gone a short distance, Livingstone shouted Forrester’s name.  His powerful voice rang far through the ravines, and struck against the rocks, rolling and reverberating in their hollows like a blast fired in a deep mine; but no answer came.