"It is a pity the brandy's spilt." "Never mind that! Hurry down to the Inn." "No! no! Austen," Gordon replied, indulgently, much as one refuses a child an impossible request. "I don't think I can do that." Hawke raised himself upon his right elbow and peered into the other's face. Neither of them spoke, but the animation flickered out of Hawke's features, and it seemed as if a veil were drawn across the pupils of his eyes. "You have murdered me," he said, sinking back and letting his head fall sideways on the ground. "I have waked up. You said I was dreaming. I have waked up, that's all. It is not the sleeper's fault if he hits the man who wakes him." Gordon bent over as he spoke, and shot the words into Hawke's ear with a savage intensity. In a moment, however, he resumed his former composure. "But we are wasting time, and we have not much time to waste, have we? I want three letters." Hawke dropped the pole of the axe and instinctively moved his right hand to protect his breast-pocket. "Thank you," said Gordon. "I only wanted to know whether you had them with you. I felt sure you would have, but it was best to make certain. Don't worry about them now. I will take them--afterwards." He laid the slightest possible stress upon the word, and continued-- "The shawl is safe enough, too. I am carrying it now. I thought you would like to know that. Is there anything more? Oh, yes! You have taught me a lesson--never to conduct interviews at night with the blind up and the window open." "Then you--you were outside?" "Yes! I was outside," cried Gordon, his savage fury boiling over its barriers and sweeping him away on a full flow. "The fool was asleep, was he? The fool was on the outhouse staring into your face. Who was the fool, eh? Did you think I was blind? Did you think I didn't see you were frightened when I met you yesterday! Did you think I didn't see you watching my bedroom from the barn? What made you come back and turn my lamp out? Who was the fool, eh? Why, but for you I should never have known, never have suspected, never have killed you." His voice had risen to a scream, and he thrust his face into Hawke's, livid with hate. A sudden access of passion stung the latter into life; he pushed the face away from him and gathering all his strength, half struggled to his feet. On the instant Gordon slipped the steel point of the axe from the bandage round his arm and Hawke fell back, fainting and sick. "Damn you!" he whispered, "and the girl, too!" Gordon uttered a cry, and dying though the man was, struck him on the mouth with his clenched fist. Hawke took the blow without a moan, fixed one steady look upon the other, and then let his head fall back upon the rock. After that neither spoke.