hand and his breast.

There was a savage struggle still, the man affirming his right to die,
and the woman denying it. But the issue could not be long in doubt;
for Haig's strength was at the ebb, while Marion's flowed in from
earth and air and sky, from the future and from the past. And she wore
him down at last, until the revolver dropped from his grasp, his
eyelids closed, his limbs relaxed, and he lay still. Waiting a moment
for certainty, she cautiously loosened one of her hands from his
wrist, and grabbed the revolver, and flung it with all her might.
Then, seeing it land twenty feet away on the grass, she rolled away
from him, and sat up panting, hollow-eyed, disheveled, and trembling
on the verge of a collapse.

For some seconds there was no sound but their labored breathing; and
not until Haig opened his eyes and looked at her, with a hunted,
baffled, and still defiant expression in their somber depths, did
Marion break down. Then suddenly, after a premonitory quivering of her
chin, she buried her face in her hands, and wept without more effort
at restraint, in utter abandonment to her agony. Haig watched, at
first in anger, and then in some confusion of emotions. Once before he
had looked upon her thus bowed and shaken; and now as then he felt a
strange upheaval, and an unfathomable sensation that had no likeness
to anything he had ever before experienced. He wanted very much to
speak to her, but could not trust himself; and after all, what was
there to be said?

It was she who rescued him from irresolution. She dropped her hands
from her face, and cried out in a voice that was broken with sobbing:
"Why, Philip, why did you do that?"

"Why?" he asked, in something like amazement.

"Yes."

"I've already told you why."

"But--no--you haven't told me!"

"It was to save you--for one thing."

"To save me?"

"I told you that your only chance is to go at once."

"But I told you I wouldn't go!"

"I know. That's the reason."

"But--don't you know, Philip, that--don't you see that--if you killed
yourself you'd--kill me too?"

There should have been no necessity for these words. Perhaps any other
man in the world, certainly most men of far less intelligence and less
acuteness of feeling, would have known long ago just what she meant.
He knew, indeed, that this girl loved him; but he did not believe that
she or any other woman was capable of the sacrifice implied in her
answer.

"You mean that--you w