White and emaciated as a skeleton's, his face was still capable of expression--and such an expression. A frenzied desire to kill seemed to be his sole aim, and his long, skinny fingers clutched Mr. Marx's throat as in a vice. The latter's eyeballs were protruding from his head and his breath was coming in short, agonised pants; yet all the while Mr. Marx was holding the madman in such a fierce grip that I could hear his ribs snapping like whalebone. My arrival saved Mr. Marx from a speedy death by strangulation. Though I lifted the lunatic up in my arms and strained every muscle to pull him away, his fingers never relaxed till I stopped his breath and rendered him momentarily unconscious. I waited for Mr. Marx to come to himself, my foot resting lightly upon the prostrate body of his assailant. Soon he rose slowly to his feet and began groping about in the road. "What do you want?" I asked. "Lost anything?" "My revolver." I pointed to where it lay gleaming in the moonlight. He picked it up and set it to an undischarged barrel. I watched him curiously. "You won't want that again," I remarked. "What are you going to do with it?" "I am going to put that beast out of his misery," he answered. "Stand out of the way!" "Nonsense! You will do nothing of the sort!" I cried hotly. "What! kill an insensible man? He has as much right to live as you. You shall not commit murder in my presence: and, least of all, shall you kill a poor insane creature like this. Put that thing up!" An awful look flashed into his face, and, as he suddenly raised his arm, I looked into the dark muzzle of his revolver. With a quick spring I wrenched the revolver from his hand, and, bending backwards, threw it far away into the bracken. "I don't know what you were going to do, Mr. Marx," I said, looking at him steadily, "but it seems to me that you are not a fit person to be trusted with firearms." He stood still, speechless with rage. I turned my back upon him and found, to my surprise, that the man whose life Mr. Marx had so much desired was lying on his side, looking at me with wide-open eyes. "Well, have your own way," Mr. Marx said, quietly; "I dare say you are right. There was no need to be violent, or to throw away my favourite revolver. What do you propose to do with him?" Mr. Marx advanced, but at the sight of him the lunatic, who was leaning heavily upon my arm, and groaning with pain, shrank down upon the ground, cowering at my feet like a dog. He covered his face with his hands and broke into one of the most pitiful cries of distress that I have ever heard from human lips. I motioned Mr. Marx back. "I can manage him alone, I think; and the sight of you upsets him. Will you follow us down?" Mr. Marx advanced a step or two, his eyes flashing with anger. Then suddenly he turned his back upon us, and, without a word, walked rapidly away. I raised my prisoner, and half carried, half dragged him back to the farm.