“I know about our son. I am glad to think he is away from your evil influence. Let me pass.” Xantippe moved toward the door, but Gregorio seized her by the throat. “You are glad our son is killed; you helped Amos to kill him.” Rage and despair impelled him. Laughing brutally, he struck her on the breast, and, as he tottered, sent his knife deep into her heart. For a few seconds he stood over her exulting, and then opened the door. Madam Marx, white with fear, rushed into the room. Seeing the murdered woman, a look of triumph came into her eyes. But it was a momentary triumph, for she realised at once the gravity of the crime. She had little pity or sorrow to waste on the dead, but she was full of concern for the safety of the murderer. “This is a bad night’s work, Gregorio.” “Is it? She deserved death. I am glad I killed her. God, how peacefully I shall sleep tonight!” “This is a worse matter than the other, my friend; you must get away from here at once.” “Let us leave the corpse; I am thirsty,” Gregorio answered, callously. With a last look at Xantippe dead upon the floor, the two left the room and made fast the bolt before descending the stairs. As they emerged from the doorway into the street, some police rode by, and Gregorio trembled a little as he stood watching them. “I want a drink; I am trembling,” he said, huskily, and followed Madam Marx into the shop. The sun was beginning to rise, and already signs of a new life were stirring. The day-workers appeared at the windows and in the streets. “You must get away at night, Gregorio, and keep hidden all day.” “All right. Give me some wine. I can arrange better when my thirst is satisfied.” After drinking deeply he turned and laughed. “It has been a busy time since sunset.” Then, as if a new idea suddenly struck him, he queried cunningly, “There will be a reward offered?” “I suppose so.” “Then you will be a rich woman.” Madam Marx flung herself at his feet and wept bitterly. The blow was a cruel one indeed. Eagerly she entreated him to retract his words. She reminded him of all she had done for him, of all she would still do. A sort of eloquence came to her as she pleaded her cause, and Gregorio, weary with excitement, kissed her as he asked: “But why should you not give me up?” “Because I love you.” Neither blood nor cruelty could stain him in her eyes. At last her passion spent itself; calmed and soothed by Gregorio’s caress she realised again the danger her lover ran. Vainly were plans discussed; no fair chance of escape seemed open. At last Gregorio said: “I shall leave here to-night for Ramleh and live in the desert for a time. If you help me we can manage easily. When my beard is grown I can get back here safely enough, and the matter will be forgotten. You must collect food and take it by train to the last station, and get the box buried by Ahmed near the palace. I can creep toward it at night unseen.” “But I will come to you at night and bring food and drink.”