"Look at me!" I said. My voice was a marvel even to myself, so rich and full and musical! "Look at me! Of what use was it to make me beautiful if you are now to make me unhappy? Ah, I beg of you, I implore you, don't be just, but be kind! Let me have my own way and see--oh, see how I shall thank you!" His face changed as I moved toward him with a coaxing smile, and dropped my hands on his shoulders. The tempest of his wrath subsided as suddenly as it had risen, and he stood short-sightedly, his head thrust forward, peering into my eyes, helpless, panting, disarmed. "You will not--ah, you will not!" I whispered. "Ach, Du!" he murmured. "Du bist mein Frankenstein! Ich kann nicht--ich--ich habe alles verloren, verloren! Ehre, Ruhm, Pflicht, Redlichkeit, den guten Namen! Verloren! Verloren!" A touch of colour that I had never seen there before grew slowly in his cheeks. It was the danger signal; but I did not know; indeed I did not know! "Come," I said, shaking him lightly, playfully; "promise me that you will not do it for a year." "Delilah!" he whispered from behind set lips, his breath coming quicker, a hoarse rattling in his throat. Then he snatched my hand and began pressing kisses upon it--greedily, like a man abandoning himself to a sudden impulse. But the next moment, before I could move, he threw back his head and tottered to a chair, where he sat for an instant, breathing heavily. Just as I sprang toward him his frame stiffened and straightened and he slipped from the chair and fell heavily to the floor, where he lay limp, unbreathing, sprawled upon the bare boards in all the pitiful ugliness of death. I was terribly frightened. For a moment wild thoughts raced through my brain--foolish impulses of flight lest I be found with the body and somehow be held responsible. Then, with scorn for my folly, I ran out into the hall, crying for help. The janitor rushed in, and seeing what had happened, went for the nearest physician, who came at once and knelt by the fallen man's side. But before he closed the staring eyes, rose from his examination of the prostrate figure and slowly shook his head, we both knew that Prof. Darmstetter was dead. "His heart--." he began, turning for the first time toward me, whom as yet he had not noticed; and then he started back and stood open-mouthed, transfixed, staring at me--at my beauty. In that sweet instant, call it wicked or not, I was glad that Darmstetter was dead! I could not help it. So long as he lived, I was not safe. I did not blame him for planning to experiment with others, any more than I would have blamed a cat that scratches or a snake that stings. I will be just. His love of learning overbore his honour. He could not have kept faith. I should never have been safe with him in the same world. Yet am I sorry for him. I owe him much.