The Argosy — page 287: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Old Stone Cross. 229 was hard to give up the girl he loved ; it was hard for her to be told she must marry another—whom she could not love. Yet, if Pierre fulhlled his threat, he, Gaston, was a dead man. And Pierre always kept his word. | Poor Gaston ! he was very sorrowful, and his heart was like lead. He went about his daily work, feeling as if the spint had gone out of him and he were turned to stone. Things looked so black ! The morning passed slowly away. When Gaston came in for the noonday meal, Pierre had not returned. For this he was glad. He felt too mad with misery to face so bad a brother. The afternoon also passed ; night came. The quiet autumn moon shone on the little Breton cottage ; shone on the Breton youth as he tossed uneasily on his bed, courting the sleep that refused to come. Pierre had not returned. Morning dawned; but no Pierre. Gaston wondered ; and began to imagine all sorts of things. At noon, just as he came in for dinner, he suddenly noticed several of the villagers coming towards the cottage, bearing a burden. Hastening out, he recognised the motionless form of his brother. “Mon pauvre Gaston,” began one of the men; “we found him lying on his face close by the large dolmen on this side Vannes. He must have been thrown from his horse, the jadis béte! He is very bad, and senseless.” Gaston helped to place him on the box bed, made as soft as possible with some hay under the quilt, and the men ran off for the doctor. Gaston sat by the bedside. No doctor was required to tell him that his brother would never rise again from where they had laid him. Death was marked in every feature. The cold dew-drops standing on the forehead, the laboured breathing were too sure evidence that there would be no recovery for Pierre Michel. Now and again the lips moved, and the patient watcher caught some broken words, of which he could make nothing. When the médecin arrived, he saw at a glance that his skill could effect nothing. “ A few hours, mon ami, and all will be at an end,” he whispered, pityingly, to Gaston. He had been thrown from his horse; his head was hurt, and he had sustained severe internal injuries. The busy médecin took his departure ; he had other cases to attend to, other lives to try to save; and Pére Gildas came in.” Gaston’s face brightened when he saw the kindly face in the door- way, surmounted by its worn shovel hat. The Curé advanced to the bedside, and made the sign of the cross over the wounded man. Perhaps Pierre had not been unconscious the whole time, or may be the priest’s kind face brought him back for a space; for the dying Breton opened his large, dark eyes, and muttered some words. ‘ Dolmen—Jeanne—mourir,” were all they could catch. ‘The horse was frightened and threw you, is that what you would say ?” Father Gildas asked. GOGO S (Cc a