"It's just because I'm weak, I suppose, but I want a little flattery. Don't you think I've done pretty well about--drinking?" "You've been wonderful, Bob. I honor and respect you more than I can say. You feel that, don't you?" "Thank you, dear. You know I did it for you? Oh, I told her all about it," as Sydney glanced towards the corner where Mrs. Morgan, worn out with grief, was sleeping behind a screen. "I've been a little more hopeful about you lately, since--well----" He paused, not liking to finish his sentence "since the Baroness came," for it suggested implications too delicate for utterance. "But I always knew, really, that you couldn't care for me in that way. It was a temporary deceit, the way you can make yourself believe for a few minutes that you haven't a toothache, and then it jumps on you again." "Dear old Bob." Sydney bent forward and kissed him. Over his face spread a radiance of unexpected happiness. "Oh, Sydney, you darling! I say, Sydney, if you wouldn't think that I'm taking advantage of my condition--would you mind--_would_ you do that again?" She kissed him again, gladly, willingly, and he sank happily to sleep. When he woke once more he asked for von Rittenheim. "He's down-stairs. He's been waiting all day hoping you'd want to see him." Sydney summoned Friedrich. He uttered an exclamation of sorrow as he saw the big black eyes looking from their hollows, and the white face of the man so suddenly brought to this pass from the full tide of strength. "For-r my sake!" he groaned. "How with all my soul I wish it were I!" He took Bob's other hand--Sydney had resumed her old position--and tried to command his voice. It was Bob who spoke first: "What about Pressley?" Von Rittenheim looked questioningly at Sydney, who nodded. "He's dead, Bob." A ray from the setting sun found its way to the bed and lighted up the dying man's face. "Kind of sudden for him, too," he mused. "Did he live any time at all?" "No. Your bullet went through his heart. He must have died instantly." "It's a mighty serious thing to do, to kill a man. I never realized before how serious it was. But I'm not sorry." "You saved my life, Bob. I can't talk about it. Only, I'd give it gladly, gladly, to keep you, old man." He bent his head with a sob. "Never mind that, Baron. I suspect Yarebrough'll be all the better for not having Pink to lead him into mischief." "It has saved him from a heavy punishment. They found in Pr-ressley's pocket a letter offering to turn State's evidence." "That would have sent Bud to jail and freed himself, wouldn't it?" asked Sydney. "Yes. He must have been afraid of betrayal." "No," cried the girl; "I'm sure he planned the whole thing to spite Melissa. I heard him threatening her one day. He said he'd make her sorry she ever married Bud." "I think you're right, Sydney," said Bob. "He was working Bud all summer, I'm confident, with the purpose of betraying him at the end."