y hours of the morning that Donaldson had become
conscious of the new and tremendous responsibility which rested upon
him. To leave Arsdale behind him alive in such a condition as this
would be to leave the curse upon the girl,--would be to desert her to
handle this mad-man alone. He had seen red at the thought of it. It
would be to brand his own act with unpardonable cowardice; it would be
to go down into his grave with the helpless cries of this woman ringing
in his ears; it would be to shirk the greatest and most sacred duty
that can come to a man. The cold sweat had started upon his forehead
at the thought of it.

The inexorable alternative was scarcely less ghastly. Yet in the face
of this other the alternative had come as a relief. If it cost him his
immortal soul, this other should not be left behind to mar a fair and
unstained life. He would throttle him as he lay there upon the bed
before he would leave him behind to this. He would go to his doom a
murderer before he would leave Arsdale alive to do a fouler murder.
That should be his final sacrifice,--his ultimate renunciation. In its
first conception he had been appalled by the idea, but slowly its
inevitability had paralyzed thought. It had made him feel almost
impersonal. Considering the manner in which he had been thrust into
it, it seemed, as it were, an ordinance of Fate.

Though this had now become fixed in his mind, there was still the scant
hope that he had grasped from what he had observed in Arsdale's manner.
Given the morsel of a man, and there was still hope. Therefore it was
with considerable interest that he watched for some evidence of the
higher nature, even if only expressed in the crude form of shame. At
times Arsdale looked like a craven cornered to his death--at times like
a man struggling with a great grief--at times like a man dazed and
uncomprehending.

To himself he moaned continuously. Frequently he rose to his elbow
with the cry, "Is she hurt?"

Still in silence Donaldson watched him. Once Arsdale fell forward on
his chin, where he lay motionless, his eyes still upon Donaldson. The
latter helped him back to the pillow, but Arsdale shrank from his touch.

"Your eyes!" he gasped, covering his own with his trembling hand.
"They are the eyes of a devil. Take them off me--take them off!"

But Arsdale could not endure his blindness long. It made the ugly
visions worse. So, he saw the girl with red blood streaming do