Was it Balder Helwyse that was struggling thus furiously, his body full of fire, his brain of madness, his heart quick-beating with savage, wicked, thirsty joy? His soul--his own no longer--was bestridden by a frantic demon, who, brimming over with hot glee, drove him whirling blindly on, with an ever-growing purpose that surcharged each smallest artery, and furnished a condensed dart of malice wherewith to stab and stab again the opposing soul. He waxed every instant madder, wickeder, more devilishly exultant; and now, although panting, breathless, pricking at every pore from the agony of the strain, he could scarce forbear screaming with delight! for he felt he was gaining, and--O ecstasy!--knew that his adversary felt it also, and that his heart was as full of black despair and terror as was his conqueror's of intolerable triumph! Gaining still! Strange, that all through this wild frenzy in which body and soul were rapt, the essential part of Balder Helwyse seemed to be looking on, with a curious, repellent twist of feature, commenting on what was going forward, and noting, with quiet interest and precision, each varying phase of the struggle,--noting, as of significance, that the sway of the demon of murder made the idea of other crimes seem beyond words congenial, enticing, delicious! Steadily through this storm of lawless fury has the predestined victory been drawing near! The throbbing of his enemy's heart,--Helwyse feels it; did ever lover so rejoice in the palpitations of his mistress? O the wine of life! drunk from the cup of murder! Hear how the wretch's voice breaks choking from his throat!--he would beg for mercy, but cannot, shall not! Keep your fingers in his throat; the other hand creeps warily downwards. Now hurl him up,--over!-- * * * * * But with what an ugly gulp the black water swallowed his body! XI. A DEAD WEIGHT. Was it not well done? Tempted to covet imaginary wickedness, Helwyse was ripe for real crime,--and who so worthy to suffer as the tempter? He leaned panting against taffrail. His predominant feeling was that he had been ensnared. His judgment had been drugged, and he had been lured on to evil. An infamous conspiracy! His breath regained, he stood upright and in a mechanical manner arranged his disordered dress. His haversack was gone,--had been torn from his shoulders and carried overboard. An awkward loss! for it contained, among other things, valuable letters and papers given him by his father; not to mention a note-book of his own, and Uncle Glyphic's miniature. His dead enemy had carried off the proofs of his murderer's identity! Not till now did Helwyse become aware of an unusual tumult on the steamer. Had they seen the deed?--He stood with set teeth, one hand on the taffrail. Rather than be taken alive, he would leap over!