"Love is sweet and life is sweet," I heard him say in answer to something from her; "but death is sweeter than all if love be denied. If we cannot live and love we can die together, Sarita," he said, in the dreary tone of a crazed dreamer. I ran my fingers softly and noiselessly round the door in search of the fastening, and when he began to speak again, I lifted the latch noiselessly by imperceptible degrees, and found to my inexpressible relief that it was unlocked. The sands of my patience had now run out, and I drew my revolver and held it in readiness for instant use. The seconds that followed formed a pause of acute suspense. I could hear Livenza brushing against the door on the inside as he moved when speaking, and taking advantage of a moment when he was in the midst of one of his mad rhapsodical harangues, I nerved myself for a tremendous effort, thrust the door open with all my might and main, and dashed into the room. Thank heaven, the attempt was entirely successful. The door in opening struck Livenza with such sudden violence, that it sent him staggering forward against the table in the centre, overthrowing the candle and extinguishing it. Before he could recover himself, I had found him in the dark, and grappling him dragged him to the floor, where he writhed and strained in a fierce and desperate struggle for the mastery. Sarita cried out in fear at the darkness and the sudden confusion. "It is I, Sarita," I called, as I heard her close over us, and feared he would try to escape. "For God’s sake, get some kind of light." I could speak no more, having to concentrate every effort to overcome Livenza, who was fighting and wrestling with the wild ferocity of madness. So fiercely did he struggle, and with strength which his madness increased so greatly, that at one time I half feared he would master me; but at length my grip fastened on his throat, and I pressed on it with all the strength at my command, disregarding the blows he rained upon me with frantic violence, and I hung on with a grip which he tried vainly to shake off, writhing, and twisting incessantly. His strength gave out at last; the blows grew fainter and the struggles weaker until he lay passive, choking, and seemingly unconscious in my grasp. [Illustration: "I HUNG ON WITH A GRIP WHICH HE TRIED VAINLY TO SHAKE OFF."—_Page_ 411.] "Can’t you get a light, Sarita?" I asked, anxiously, for the whole struggle had taken place in pitchy darkness. "Are you hurt?" was her reply, her voice trembling.