Wrapped in blankets, the thing that had been Sheriff Churchill was laid on the sidewalk at Abner Fownes’s feet. “Uncover his face. Let this man look at him,” Carmel said. “Make him look.... Make him look....” Fownes covered his face, staggered back. “No.... No.... Take--take it away.” “Uncover his face,” said Carmel. “Take this man’s hands from his eyes.... Make him look....” They obeyed. Fownes stood quivering, eyes tightly shut. “Look,” said Carmel. “_Look!_” She overmastered him. He opened his eyes and looked at the dreadful sight. He stared, bent forward. His hands stretched out, clawlike, as he stared at the horror. Then he threw back his head and laughed, and the laughter ended in a shriek.... He swayed, half turned, and fell back into the arms of the men of Gibeon.... Jared Whitefield forced his way to Fownes’s side. “I will take charge of him,” he said. “Will some one take care of this girl.... She hain’t herself.... Take her back to Doc Stewart’s....” * * * * * Morning penetrated the room where Carmel sat, entering gently, gently pushing back the night. Carmel sat wide-eyed, waiting, waiting. She had not slept, had not closed her eyes. From time to time she had climbed the stairs to look upon Evan Pell’s face, to be told that he lived, that his condition was unchanged.... She was worn, weary. Nothing mattered now. She was at the end of things, wishing for death. Doctor Stewart came to the door. “Can you step upstairs, Miss Lee?” “Is--is he----” The doctor shook his head. Carmel followed. Doubtless he was sinking, and she was summoned to be present at the end.... She entered the room. Her heart was cold, heavy, dead. As she approached the beside she could not lift her eyes to Evan’s face. “Carmel--dear....” said a voice. Her heart came to life; it warmed, leaped in her bosom. She dared to look. His eyes were open, conscious, intelligent. “Evan!... Evan!...” she cried and sank on her knees beside him. Her eyes devoured his face, and he smiled. “Doctor--Doctor,” she cried, “is he--will he----” “I think,” said the doctor, “we can have him on his feet in a week, slightly damaged, of course.” “And I thought--I thought you would die,” she said. “Die!” Evan Pell’s voice, weak and faint, nevertheless carried a note of surprise. “Er--of course not. I had not the slightest intention--of dying.” He fumbled for her hand. “Why my dear--I have--just come to--life.” “You would have given your life for me!... Oh, Evan, I love you! ... and I’m so--so proud of you.” “Er--very gratifying,” said Evan. Then, for a moment he was silent, reflecting. “It is--very satisfying to--be in love,” he said. “I--like it.” Then. “I want you to--be proud--of me.” He smiled. “There’s just--one thing--I am proud of.” “What is that, sweetheart?” “The--er--way I--handled that doorknob--with so little practice,” he said. “It was--er--so foreign to my training.... It--showed adaptability....” THE END