There was a direct path to the scaffold before him. With a low cry, he turned back, and, bending over her, forced the notes from her hand, keeping his eyes away from the white face, and above all--ah, above all--the thin stream of red which trickled from her side. The notes were his. With a shudder he thrust them into his pocket, and bent over her again, when suddenly he uttered a cry, a smothered yell of hysterical fear, and looked up. Above him stood Harold Faradeane! CHAPTER XXIV. THE MAN AND THE COWARD. The miserable wretch shrank back, putting out his hands as if to ward off the stern, accusing eyes, and groaned. Faradeane flung himself down on one knee beside the prostrate form, and raising her head, looked into her face. As he recognized her, he gave a start of surprise, but instantly placed his hand over her heart. Then he turned his eyes upon the cowering Bradstone. “You have killed her!” he said, in a low, hoarse voice. “No, no!” groaned Bartley Bradstone. “She--she is not dead. For God’s sake, don’t say that!” “You have killed her!” repeated Faradeane, grimly. “Why did you do it? What was she to you----” He stopped, for Bartley Bradstone had crawled to his knees. “Faradeane, have mercy on me, have pity,” he whined, almost speechless with terror. “I--I didn’t mean to--to--kill her, only to stun her--to--to--I’ll tell you all, so help me Heaven, if you’ll let me go----” Faradeane, with Bella’s head upon his knee, held up one hand. “They will hang you,” he said, grimly. “You are mad! What have I to do with saving you? You are beyond help, and you must know it.” Bartley Bradstone uttered a whine. “Oh, my Heaven! What shall I do? Faradeane! Faradeane! save me!” Faradeane scarcely heeded him; his brain was whirling as he loosened the woman’s collar, and tried to pour some brandy past her paling lips. “Save me, save me, Faradeane!” cried Bartley Bradstone, in a kind of suppressed shriek. “I can explain everything. I’ll do anything! I’ll--I’ll--oh, God! if you won’t do it for me, do it for her! Remember whom I married this morning!” A quick shudder ran through Faradeane’s veins, and the blood left his face. In the horror and excitement of the moment he had forgotten--forgotten that this blood-stained wretch, who crawled at his feet and begged like a cur for his life, was the husband of Olivia Vanley! The husband! He looked up speechless for a moment. “Great God! I had forgotten!” dropped from his white lips. “You--you fiend!” “Don’t--don’t!” whined Bartley. “I--I know all you can say; but--but if you’d seen how she drove me! She had no mercy! She drove me till I was mad! Yes, that’s what I am!” he gasped, hoarsely. “I’m mad! Tell them I’m mad! They can’t hang me! They can’t! You said so yourself. Oh, Faradeane, have pity on me! Think how young I am! I--I am no older than you! Have pity on me!”