With wonderful distinctness Jane Withersteen heard her own clear voice. She heard the water murmur at her feet and flow on to the sea; she heard the rushing of all the waters in the world. They filled her ears with low, unreal murmurings—these sounds that deadened her brain and yet could not break the long and terrible silence. Then, from somewhere—from an immeasurable distance—came a slow, guarded, clinking, clanking step. Into her it shot electrifying life. It released the weight upon her numbed eyelids. Lifting her eyes she saw—ashen, shaken, stricken—not the Bishop but the man! And beyond him, from round the corner came that soft, silvery step. A long black boot with a gleaming spur swept into sight—and then Lassiter! Bishop Dyer did not see, did not hear: he stared at Jane in the throes of sudden revelation. “Ah, I understand!” he cried, in hoarse accents. “That’s why you made love to this Lassiter—to bind his hands!” It was Jane’s gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyer turn. Then clear sight failed her. Dizzily, in a blur, she saw the Bishop’s hand jerk to his hip. She saw gleam of blue and spout of red. In her ears burst a thundering report. The court floated in darkening circles around her, and she fell into utter blackness. [Illustration: It was Jane’s gaze riveted upon the rider that made Bishop Dyer turn.] The darkness lightened, turned to slow-drifting haze, and lifted. Through a thin film of blue smoke she saw the rough-hewn timbers of the court roof. A cool, damp touch moved across her brow. She smelled powder, and it was that which galvanized her suspended thought. She moved, to see that she lay prone upon the stone flags with her head on Lassiter’s knee, and he was bathing her brow with water from the stream. The same swift glance, shifting low, brought into range of her sight a smoking gun and splashes of blood. “_Ah-h!_” she moaned, and was drifting, sinking again into darkness, when Lassiter’s voice arrested her. “It’s all right, Jane. It’s all right.” “Did—you—kill—him?” she whispered. “Who? That fat party who was here? No. I didn’t kill him.” “Oh!... Lassiter!” “Say! It was queer for you to faint. I thought you were such a strong woman, not faintish like that. You’re all right now—only some pale. I thought you’d never come to. But I’m awkward round women folks. I couldn’t think of anythin’.” “Lassiter!... the gun there!... the blood!”