CHAPTER XIII.
There lie the dead corpses of those words on paper; but my art is powerless to tell you how they were uttered, those words, potent as a king's, for they saved a life.
They were a cry of terror and a cry of reproach and a cry of love unfathomable.
The weapon shook in his hand.

He looked at her with growing astonishment and joy; she at him fixedly and anxiously, her hands clasped in supplication.
"As you used to love me ?" "More, far more.

Give me the pistol.

I love you, dearest.

I love you." At these delicious words he lost all power of resistance, she saw; and her soft and supple hand stole in and closed upon his, and gently withdrew the weapon, and threw it into the water.