e had drunk one deep draught of her.

He lost himself in one hot love phrase after another. He poured out
his soul in words he had left unspoken to her. He was back again
before the fire, telling her all that he did not tell her then. One
gorgeous image after another swarmed to his brain. He was like a poet
gone mad. He crowded sentence upon sentence, superlative upon
superlative, until he found himself upon his feet, his cheeks hot, and
his breath coming short. Then he caught sight of the crimson stain
upon the wall and felt himself a murderer. He staggered back and threw
himself full-length upon the couch, panting like one at the end of a
long run. He lay here very quietly.

The dog crawled to his side and licked the hair at his hot temple.

CHAPTER XXVI

_On the Brink_

Donaldson was aroused by the dog which was at the door barking
excitedly. It was broad daylight. As Donaldson sprang up he heard the
brisk approach of footsteps, and the next second a key fumbling in the
lock. Before he had fully recovered his senses the door swung open,
and Barstow, tanned and ruddy, burst in. Donaldson stared at him and
he stared at Donaldson. Then, striding over the dog, who yelped in
protest at this treatment, Barstow approached the haggard, unshaven man
who faced him.

"Good Heavens, Peter!" he cried, "what ails you?"

Donaldson put out his hand and the other grasped it with the clasp of a
man in perfect health.

"Can't you speak?" he demanded. "What's the matter with you?"

"I 'm glad to see you," answered Donaldson.

"But what are you doing here in this condition? Are you sick?"

"No, I 'm not sick. I lay down on the sofa and I guess I fell asleep."

"You look as though you had been sleeping there a month. Sit down,
man. You have a fever."

"There 's your dog," said Donaldson.

Barstow turned. The dog, with his forefeet on Barstow's knee, was
stretching his neck towards his master's hand.

"Hello, pup," he greeted him. "Did the janitor use you all right?" He
shook him off.

Donaldson sat down. Barstow stood in front of him a moment and then
reached to feel his pulse. It was normal.

"I 'm not sick, I tell you," said Donaldson, trying to laugh, "I was
just all in. I came up here to see if you were back and slumped down
on the couch. Then I fell asleep. There 's your dog behind you."

"What of it?" demanded Barstow.

"Why--he looks glad to see you."

"What of that?"

"No