inted to a door leading to the interior
apartments of the suite. "I could not leave Issa entirely alone on this
last night. So I brought the girl here--for once, she trusted me. For
once, you can do likewise."

Constans bowed his head. "But Issa," he said, thickly.

"She would be dead in our arms before we reached the stairs," returned
the other. "Can you not leave her to me for just this little while
longer?" His voice hardened savagely. "She is mine, do you hear--mine,
mine. I have paid the price, double and treble, and now I take what is
my own."

His voice rang like a trumpet in the narrow room. And yet, straight
through its clamor, pierced the sound of a stifled cry. Constans turned
instantly, but Quinton Edge, trembling, kept his eyes fixed on the
floor.

Sitting upright upon the couch, Issa looked at the two men steadfastly,
and then only at the one. The violet depths in her eyes had darkened to
pools of midnight, and her lips were like a thread of scarlet against
the ivory of her face. A miracle! but Constans would not look again,
knowing that for him this hour had passed forever.

Constans went to the inner door and opened it. Esmay was kneeling at the
window; he went over and touched her on the shoulder. "Come," he said.
She looked up at him, and he saw that her face whitened for all of the
glare from the flaming sky that fell upon it. Yet she let him lead her,
unresisting, into the other room, where Quinton Edge still stood
motionless and looked upon the floor. Constans plucked at his sleeve,
drawing him out into the full circle of the lamp-light. Face to face for
the last time, and, though no word was said, each knew that there was
peace between them.

"Go to her," whispered Constans, and pushed him gently towards the
couch.

* * * * *

Now the room had fallen into semi-darkness, for the oil had failed in
the lamp, and there was only that dull-red line along the edge of the
window-curtains. And there was silence, too, for all that words could
say had been said already.

* * * * *

The minutes passed, but the man had ceased to count them. The hand that
lay in his was growing cold, but the knowledge had ceased to concern
him; the brain no longer registered the messages sent by the nerves,
and he was conscious only of an immense weariness, of an overwhelming
desire to sleep. The maiden Issa's hair lay within the hollow of his
arm, a poo