id ourselves of an ugly
presence. While we are together--and it may not be for long
now--nothing should come between us, least of all that."

The girl's tears had dried. She looked over at her lover. His
compelling influence was upon her. She paused irresolute; then she
plunged her hand into her pocket and drew forth a large revolver.

"Here, take it. Take it, and do what you like with it" Then she
laughed bitterly. "You know me as I am now. I brought that to shoot
you with, and afterwards to shoot myself. You see, I am a murderess at
heart." And she smiled bitterly.

Iredale took the weapon and placed it in his bookcase. Then he came to
the girl's side and put his arm tenderly about her shoulders.

"Forget it, child; forget it as you would a hideous dream. Your
feelings were forced upon you by--well, through my wretched doings.
That which I have done to gain wealth has brought only what might have
been expected in its train. No work of evil is without its sting, and,
as is always the case, that sting seeks out the most sensitive part of
its victim. The chastisement for my wrongdoing has been inflicted with
cruel cunning, for you, Prue, have been made to suffer; thus is my
punishment a hundredfold greater."

He drew her to him as he spoke, and gently smoothed her dark hair.
Under the influence of his touch and the sound of his voice, the girl
calmed. She nestled close to his side, and for a moment abandoned
herself to the delight of being with him. But her thoughts would not
remain idle for long. Suddenly she released herself and moved to
arm's length from him.

"George," she said, in a tone of suppressed eagerness, "they cannot
try you for--for murder. You will tell them. You will show them
all--these. For my sake, for the sake of all your friends, you will
not let them--condemn you. Oh, you can't allow it. Think," she went
on, more passionately; "no men would willingly let you be declared
guilty when they know you to be innocent. It must not be."

Iredale gave no outward sign. He had turned his face away and was
gazing in the direction of the window. His reflective eyes looked out
upon the valley, but his resolve was written plainly in them.

"Do not tempt me, Prue," he said quietly. "Were I to do otherwise than
I have resolved, and obtained an acquittal thereby, I should live a
life of utter regret. I should despise myself; I should loathe my own
shadow. Nothing could be more revolting to me than the man who