r that there was no
need of thought; and so she did not think.

Leaping to the pebbly bank, she rubbed herself swiftly with the towel,
and felt the glow of health rushing through her body, all pink and
gleaming in the sun. Then she dressed, and combed her hair; rinsed and
wrung out the towel, and hung it on the willow-limbs to dry; and
started back toward the camp in the highest spirits, and eager for
service. And then, at twenty paces, she was stricken cold and rigid by
the sight that met her unsuspecting eyes.

Haig had left his blankets, and was now dragging himself like a
wounded animal along the earth. Already he had covered more than half
the distance to the rock on which his revolver lay; and it seemed as
if she would stand rooted there in helpless horror until he reached
it. Then, with an incautious cry, she bounded forward. Haig heard her,
and flung himself toward the stone with reckless determination. Where
he had inches, Marion had yards to go; it was a race that might, in
another age, have done credit to the ingenuity of a Roman emperor. If
Philip was mad with pain and anger, Marion was frantic with fear and
love. It seemed to her that the turf gripped her feet, that the wind
in her face would strangle her, that her skirts were leaden sheets
around her knees. And she barely resisted falling in a senseless heap
when, at ten yards from the goal, she saw that she would be too late.

He beat her to the rock by merely a few seconds; but he was fairly
spent. His fingers bled where he had dug them into the sand; the sweat
rolled down his face; and exhaustion bound him as with bands of iron.
Yet he was able to reach for the gun, and clutch it; and with a final
effort that seemed to tear the heart from his breast, he dragged the
weapon under him, pressed the muzzle upward, pulled the trigger, at
the very instant that Marion threw herself upon him.

There was a muffled report, the fumes stung their eyes and nostrils,
and for a moment both lay still. Then Marion felt a movement under
her, and guessed that Haig was fumbling with the revolver. An
indescribable energy seized her, something tigerish in its fury, and
beyond her own proper powers, so that she flung him over on his back
as if he had been a child in strength and size. With both hands she
gripped the wrist below the clutched revolver, and while she held it
away from his body she drew her own body over his, and threw herself
on his extended arm, between his