.

The next day, Courtland was confined to his bed until late in the
afternoon, when he dressed, and left the hotel. I saw him no more until
the subsequent day. Why, it now becomes important to relate.

About eight o'clock in the evening of the 21st, the day after his
arrival, Courtland staggered into the gallery, or rather the den of John
Pollexfen. He had no other arms than a short double-edged dagger, and
this he concealed in his sleeve.

They had met before; as he sometimes went there, anterior to the death
of M. Marmont, to obtain the photographs upon which Lucile was
experimenting, previous to her engagement by the artist.

Pollexfen manifested no surprise at his visit; indeed, his manner
indicated that it had been anticipated.

"You have come into my house, young man," slowly enunciated the
photographer, "to take my life."

"I do not deny it," replied Courtland.

As he said this, he took a step forward. Pollexfen threw open his vest,
raised himself to his loftiest height, and solemnly said: "Fire! or
strike! as the case may be; I shall offer no resistance. I only beg of
you, as a gentleman, to hear me through before you play the part of
assassin."

Their eyes met. The struck lamb gazing at the eagle! Vengeance
encountering Faith! The pause was but momentary. "I will hear you," said
Courtland, sinking into a chair, already exhausted by his passion.

Pollexfen did not move. Confronting the lover, he told his story
truthfully to the end. He plead for his life; for he felt the proud
consciousness of having performed an act of duty that bordered upon the
heroic.

Still, there was no relenting in the eye of Courtland. It had that
expression in it that betokens blood. Caesar saw it as Brutus lifted his
dagger. Henry of Navarre recognized it as the blade of Ravillac sank
into his heart. Joaquin beheld it gleaming in the vengeful orbs of Harry
Love! Pollexfen, too, understood the language that it spoke.

Dropping his hands, and taking one stride toward the young man, he
sorrowfully said: "I have but one word more to utter. Your affianced
bride has joyfully sacrificed one of her lustrous eyes to science. In
doing so, she expressed but one regret, that you, whom she loved better
than vision, or even life, might, as the years roll away, forget to love
her in her mutilation as you did in her beauty. Perfect yourself, she
feared mating with imperfection might possibly estrange your heart. Your
superiority in pers