s pain and shame were dreadful for Joan to see, because she felt sorry
for him, and divined that behind them would rise the darker, grimmer
force of the man. And she was right, for suddenly he changed. That
which had seemed almost to make him abject gave way to a pale and bitter
dignity. He took up Dandy Dale's belt, which Joan had left on the bed,
and, drawing the gun from its sheath, he opened the cylinder to see if
it was loaded, and then threw the gun at Joan's feet.

"There! Take it--and make a better job this time," he said.

The power in his voice seemed to force Joan to pick up the gun.

"What do--you mean?" she queried, haltingly.

"Shoot me again! Put me out of my pain--my misery.... I'm sick of it
all. I'd be glad to have you kill me!"

"Kells!" exclaimed Joan, weakly.

"Take your chance--now--when I've no strength--to force you.... Throw
the gun on me.... Kill me!"

He spoke with a terrible impelling earnestness, and the strength of his
will almost hypnotized Joan into execution of his demand.

"You are mad," she said. "I don't want to kill you. I couldn't.... I
just want you to--to be--decent to me."

"I have been--for me. I was only in fun this time--when I grabbed you.
But the FEEL of you!... I can't be decent any more. I see things clear
now.... Joan Randle, it's my life or your soul!"

He rose now, dark, shaken, stripped of all save the truth.

Joan dropped the gun from nerveless grasp.

"Is that your choice?" he asked hoarsely.

"I can't murder you!"

"Are you afraid of the other men--of Gulden? Is that why you can't kill
me? You're afraid to be left--to try to get away?"

"I never thought of them."

"Then--my life or your soul!"

He stalked toward her, loomed over her, so that she put out trembling
hands. After the struggle a reaction was coming to her. She was
weakening. She had forgotten her plan.

"If you're merciless--then it must be--my soul," she whispered. "For I
CAN'T murder you.... Could you take that gun now--and press it here--and
murder ME?"

"No. For I love you."

"You don't love me. It's a blacker crime to murder the soul than the
body."

Something in his strange eyes inspired Joan with a flashing, reviving
divination. Back upon her flooded all that tide of woman's subtle
incalculable power to allure, to charge, to hold. Swiftly she went
close to Kells. She stretched out her hands. One was bleeding from rough
contract with the log wall during the struggle. Her