He made no cry, no struggle--the set teeth unlocked, and he fell limply back on the sand, his head lapped by the waves.
I remained poised above him, spent and breathless from struggle, scarcely conscious even as to what had occurred so swiftly, the dripping knife in my hand, blood streaming down my cheek, and still infuriated by blind passion.

The fellow lay motionless, his face upturned to the sky, but invisible except in dim outline.

It did not seem possible he could actually be dead; I had struck blindly, with no knowledge as to where the keen blade had penetrated--a mere desperate lunge.

I rested my ear over his heart, detecting no murmur of response; touched the veins of his wrist, but found there no answering throb of life.

Still dazed and uncertain, I arose staggering to my feet, conscious at last that the man must actually be dead, yet, for the moment, so surprised by the discovery as to scarcely realize its significance.