Halsa felt that every step was taking her away from the best part of her life, and yet with all the sorrow was mingled a proud sense of the sacrifice she had made. Then a great doubt came upon her. Had she acted rightly? Was this man--this fiend who had deliberately allowed her to commit a crime--worth the sacrifice? No, a thousand times no. She had it almost in her heart to turn back and throw herself at Galbraith's feet, to be his slave, to be anything, rather than parted from him. Then the horror and shame of it all made the hot blood rush in madness to her face. And so, on they went through the dark street, where lamps shone only at long intervals amid the ghostly gloom of the cocoa palms, and the rain now pouring fast. Her clothes were drenched through, and Halsa felt that her strength would not enable her to keep up with her companion much longer. At last she could endure no more, and slackened her pace. Lamport walked on for a little, and then, apparently suddenly missing her from his side, turned sharply. "Did I not tell you to keep up with me?" he said. Halsa made no reply, but the strain was too great for her, and she burst into a passion of tears. Lamport looked on her for a moment, and then, raising his clenched fist, he struck her down. "Damn you!" he said, "you can die there if you like." He had longed for this opportunity ever since they had left the house. He looked at the motionless body before him. "I have a mind to finish the job," said he aloud, and his knife seemed to slip into his fingers of its own accord. He glanced round him for a moment, and as he did so he heard the rumble of carriage wheels and saw the flash of lights as they turned the corner of the dark street, not fifty yards ahead. Quick as lightning Lamport dashed down a narrow side road between two walls, and disappeared in the darkness. Almost as he did this the carriage came up. The horses shied backward on their haunches, and then stopped dead. There was the alarmed cry of feminine voices, and an anxious inquiry made in deeper tones. The groom, descending from the seat behind, went forward. "'Tis some one lying on the road dead or drunk, Padre." "Most likely the latter," was the reply as the Padre stepped out of the carriage and went forward. "Here, Pedro, hand me that light. Good God!" he exclaimed as he bent over the prostrate figure, "it is a woman--a European, too; there has been some devil's work here. Hold the light up, Pedro, while I lift her--thanks--Mother," said he to another figure, that of a woman clad in a long dark gown, who had followed him out of the carriage, "this is work for you; help me with her to the carriage." He raised the body in his arms, and with the assistance of the nun and two others, her companions, who had come out of the carriage, put Halsa in. "Is she dead?" asked one, evidently a young woman from her voice. "No," said the nun whom the Padre had addressed as mother, "she breathes yet. Pedro, drive on quickly."