In a way I had. A man may die fifty deaths while counting off ten seconds in his mind. "I'll give you something to help you sleep, Steve," I said. It didn't take me long to dress and bind up his wound. He winced once or twice, but he never took his eyes from the mirror. "You promised to bury it face down in the sand," I said. He looked at me. "You know better than that," he said. "I promised nothing of the sort." "It's like falling in love with a ghost, only worse," I said. "That's where you're wrong. There's nothing ghostly about her." I mixed him a sleeping draught, using the little water we had left. In five minutes he was snoring. I pried the mirror from his fingers and propped it up against a rock, so that he could see her face when he woke up. Then I stretched myself out in the sand, kicked off my shoes and stared up at the sky. The sun was just sinking to rest, and there was a thin sprinkling of stars in the middle of the sky. The stars seemed cold and immeasurably remote. Would it work out? Could it possibly work out? Was I sticking out my neck in a gamble so big it was like attempting to pierce the sun, and hammer out a new humanity on a great blazing anvil heated to millions of degrees centigrade? I laughed, alone with my thoughts. Nothing dared, nothing gained. What does a man gain by striking bargains with the mouse in himself? * * * * * I awoke in the cool dawn. The morning mists had rolled back and the red desert looked almost beautiful in the sun-glow. Steve was sitting up, staring at the mirror. The light shifted suddenly, and I could see the radiance which smouldered in the depths of the glass. I got up, walked to the wall and peered over Steve's shoulder. The girl was looking at him, her face so beautiful it fairly took my breath away. It was as though after a lifetime of wandering she'd found the only man in the world for her. Her face was bright with sympathy, with compassion for Steve. But Steve sat slumped in utter dejection, his eyes burning holes in his face. He didn't even look up when I spoke to him. "She knows, Tom," he whispered, hoarsely. "She turned pale when that bullet hit me. She was relieved when you dressed the wound. She's been watching over me all night, like an angel of mercy." "You'll need her more and more," I said. "You know what the end will be, Steve. Complete hopelessness in an empty room." He stood up, his face savage. "I never asked your advice," he ground out. "I'm not asking it now." "I've got to save you, Steve," I said. "I love her, do you hear? I don't care what happens to me!" I picked up the mirror before he could guess my purpose. I swung about and I brought that rare and beautiful object down on the rock Steve had been sitting on. There was a splintering crash, a crackling burst of white flame. [Illustration: There was a splintering crash, a crackling burst of flame....]