e
Spanish dagger in her hand. Her arm was raised, her wrist curved; the
dagger pointed toward the space which Helena had filled a moment ago.

"I intended to kill her," she said aloud. "I intended to kill her."

The mental admission of the design and its frustration were almost
simultaneous. Her brain was still in a hideous tumult. Weakened by
suffering, the shock of Helena's fickleness and injustice, the sudden
perception that her sacrifice had been useless, if not absurd, had
disturbed her mental balance for a few seconds, and left her at the
mercy of passions hitherto in-existent to her consciousness. Her love
for her old friend, long trembling in the balance, had flashed into
hate. Upon hate had followed the murderous impulse for vengeance; not
for her own sake, but for that of the man whose weakness had ruined her
life and his own. In the very height of her sudden madness she was still
capable of a curious misdirected feminine unselfishness.

When she came to herself, chagrin that she had failed to accomplish her
purpose possessed her mind for the moment, although she had made no
attempt to follow Helena, beyond springing to her feet. Then her
conscience asserted itself, and reminded her that she should be
appalled, overcome with horror, at the awful possibilities of her
nature. The picture of Helena in the death struggle, bleeding and
gasping, rose before her. Her knees gave way with horror and fright, and
she fell upon her chair, dropping the dagger from her wet fingers,
staring at the grim spectre of her friend. Then once more the sound of
galloping hoofs came to her ears. Both Helena and herself were safe.

In a few moments her thoughts grouped themselves into a regret deeper
and bitterer still. She was capable of the highest passion, and
Circumstance had diverted it from its natural climax and impelled it
toward murder. She sat there and thought until morning on the part to
which she had been born; the ego dully attempting to understand, to
realise that its imperious demands receive little consideration from the
great Law of Circumstance, and are usually ignored.

XXIII

The next morning Magdalena did as wise a thing as if inspired by reason
instead of blind instinct: she got on her horse and rode for six hours.
When she returned home she was exhausted of body and inert of brain. She
found a note from Helena awaiting her.

DEAREST 'LENA,--What a tornado and an idiot you must think
me!