ed from dreams of
your kisses and gone out to court murder. I have earned the reputation
of being something more than human, but I am not. I had everything that
life could give me except you. Now I have got you, and I am going to
keep you."

Naida began to weep silently. The low, even voice of Nicol Brinn ceased.
He could feel her quivering in his grasp; and, as she sobbed, slowly,
slowly the fierce light faded from his eyes.

"Naida, my Naida, forgive me," he whispered.

She raised her face, looking up to him pathetically. "I came to you, I
came to you," she moaned. "I promised long ago that I would come. What
use is it, all this? You know, you know! Kill me if you like. How often
have I asked you to kill me. It would be sweet to die in your arms. But
what use to talk so? You are in great danger or you would not have asked
me to come. If you don't know it, I tell you--you are in great danger."

Nicol Brinn released her, stood up, and began slowly to pace about the
room. He deliberately averted his gaze from the settee. "Something has
happened," he began, "which has changed everything. Because you are here
I know that--someone else is here."

He was answered by a shuddering sigh, but he did not glance in the
direction of the settee.

"In India I respected what you told me. Because you were strong, I loved
you the more. Here in England I can no longer respect the accomplice of
assassins."

"Assassins? What, is this something new?"

"With a man's religion, however bloodthirsty it may be, I don't quarrel
so long as he sincerely believes in it. But for private assassination
I have no time and no sympathy." It was the old Nicol Brinn who was
speaking, coldly and incisively. "That--something we both know about
ever moved away from those Indian hills was a possibility I had never
considered. When it was suddenly brought home to me that you, you, might
be here in London, I almost went mad. But the thing that made me realize
it was a horrible thing, a black, dastardly thing. See here."

He turned and crossed to where the woman was crouching, watching him
with wide-open, fearful eyes. He took both her hands and looked grimly
into her face. "For seven years I have walked around with a silent
tongue and a broken heart. All that is finished. I am going to speak."

"Ah, no, no!" She was on her feet, her face a mask of tragedy. "You
swore to me, you swore to me!"

"No oath holds good in the face of murder."

"Is that wh