watched him with the look of one at peace. The Prince wrote down a list of the names de Lusignan had given him; then he came and knelt down again beside the couch.
"You have done a hard thing," he said, softly. "There are many hard and cruel things in life, Rohan: for example, little wounded hands and feet." He touched Rohan's wrists very lightly, and Rohan flushed.
"They will say I did it to save my life; but then they say worse things of you. I can bear it; yes, I can bear it. And by and by, when they see you doing all that you have told me you mean to do—"
"When? When they see me giving freedom to the press, and liberty to the people? When they see that they will cease to taunt you? My little Rohan, I'm sorry."
"I'm glad," said the boy, proudly.
The Prince smiled down at him. "How pale you are!" he said. "I will give you some of my wine; it will send you to sleep, and that will be good for you." He went into the farther corner of the room and got a flask of wine and a glass. He made ready in silence, with dexterous feline movements; his eyes were dark with pity, and his lips were parted in a little tender smile. He brought the wine to Rohan, and touched the glass first with his own lips. "Drink my health, as I drink yours, child," he said, softly. "Sleep is best."
"And when I wake, may I see François?" asked de Lusignan. He essayed to take the glass, but his crippled hands failed him, and the Prince himself held it to his lips.
"Of course you shall see François, when you wake," he said, smiling. "Sleep sweetly, Rohan; all shall be well with my two new brothers."
Wine is a powerful narcotic. Very soon Rohan de Lusignan slept quietly, his head resting upon the Prince's shoulder.
An hour later the Prince rang his bell; the secretary came in haste. The Prince handed him a slip of paper.
"Have these men arrested and shot, Paul," he said, in his tone that brooked no delay. "Get it done quickly: this insurrection is mischievous and must be stamped out at once. And put François de Lusignan on the rack before you shoot him; he has information to give, and as he is young and weakly you will probably have little trouble with him." He added over his shoulder, as he sat down at his escritoire, "Take away that child's body, and when you have done with François, bury them together."
August
BY E. S. MARTIN
WHEN vagrant clouds drift in the summer sky,
And in the heavy air,
The odors and the fruitful heat supply
Sensation everywhere,
And zephyrs that caress, and sounds that lull.
And colors, fill the senses' measure full.
Blessed is the man whose thoughts from effort cease,
While pass such golden hours;
Who saturates his spirit with the peace
That healing Nature pours,
A soothing, charming, vivifying flood,
Through every sense, to prove that life is good.
