on his chest; his arms hung limply at the
sides of his chair.

"He is fainting!" cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves.
"Cutty!"--desperately, fearing to touch Hawksley herself.

"No! The stones, the stones! Take them away--out of sight! I'm too done
in! I can't stand it! I can't--The Red Night! Torches and hobnailed
boots!"

CHAPTER XXXIII

Her fingers seemingly all thumbs, her heart swelling with misery and
loneliness, wanting to go to him but fearing she would be misunderstood,
Kitty scooped up the dazzling stones and poured them hastily into the
tobacco pouch, which she thrust into Cutty's hands. What she had heard
was not the cry of a disordered brain. There was some clear reason for
the horror in Hawksley's tones. What tragedy lay behind these wonderful
prisms of colour that the legitimate owner could not look upon them
without being stirred in this manner?

"Take them into the study," urged Kitty.

"Wait!" interposed Hawksley. "I give one of the emeralds to you, Cutty.
They came out of hell--if you want to risk it! The other is for Miss
Conover, with Mister Hawksley's compliments." He was looking at Kitty
now, his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. "Don't be apprehensive. They
bring evil only to men. With one in your possession you will be happy
ever after, as the saying goes. Oh, they are mine to give; mine by right
of inheritance. God knows I paid for them!"

"If I said Mister--" began Kitty, her brain confused, her tongue clumsy.

"You haven't forgiven!" he interrupted. "A thoroughbred like you,
to hold last night against me! Mister--after what we two have shared
together! Why didn't you leave me there to die?"

Cutty observed that the drama had resolved itself into two characters;
he had been relegated to the scenes. He tiptoed toward his study door,
and as he slipped inside he knew that Gethsemane was not an orchard
but a condition of the mind. He tossed the pouch on his desk, eyed it
ironically, and sat down. His, one of them--one of those marvellous
emeralds was his! He interlaced his fingers and rested his brow upon
them. He was very tired.

Kitty missed him only when she heard the latch snap.

She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to touch
him, not to console him; to stand staring at him like a dumb thing!

"I do forgive--Johnny! But your world and my world--"

"Those stains! The wretches hurt you!"

"What? Where?"--bewildered.

"The blood on your wa