lizabeth and Grace, with their
mother, knelt down and hid their faces. Every one in the room knelt too,
and there was a profound stillness. Tom's breathing grew heavier and
more laboured,--once they made an attempt to lift the weight of his
child's dead body from his breast, but his hands were clenched upon it
convulsively and they could not loosen his hold. All at once Elizabeth
lifted her head and prayed aloud--

"O God, have mercy on our poor friend Tom, and help him through the
Valley of the Shadow! Grant him Thy forgiveness for all his sins, and
let him find----" here she broke down and sobbed pitifully,--then
between her tears she finished her petition--"Let him find his little
child with Thee!"

A low and solemn "Amen" was the response to her prayer from all present,
and suddenly Tom opened his eyes with a surprised bright look.

"Is Kiddie all right?" he asked.

"Yes, Tom!" It was Elizabeth who answered, bending over him--"Kiddie's
all right! He's fast asleep in your arms."

"So he is!" And the brilliancy in Tom's eyes grew still more radiant,
while with one hand he caressed the thick dark curls that clustered on
the head of his dead boy--"Poor little chap! Tired out, and so am I!
It's very cold surely!"

"Yes, Tom, it is. Very cold!"

"I thought so! I--I must keep the child warm. They'll be worried in camp
over all this--Kiddie never stays out so late. He's such a little
fellow--only four!--and he goes to bed early always. And when--when he's
asleep--why then--then--the day's over for me,--and night begins--night
begins!"

The smile lingered on his lips, and settled there at last in coldest
gravity,--the fine mask of death covered his features with an
impenetrable waxen stillness--all was over! Tom o' the Gleam had gone
with his slain child, and the victim he had sacrificed to his revenge,
into the presence of that Supreme Recorder who chronicles all deeds both
good and evil, and who, in the character of Divine Justice, may,
perchance, find that the sheer brutal selfishness of the modern social
world is more utterly to be condemned, and more criminal even than
murder.

CHAPTER XI

Sick at heart, and utterly overcome by the sudden and awful tragedy to
which he had been an enforced silent witness, David Helmsley had now but
one idea, and that was at once to leave the scene of horror which, like
a ghastly nightmare, scarred his vision and dizzied his brain. Stumbling
feebly along, and seeming