“Lord!” said Cutty, in an awed whisper. Green stones! The magnificent rubies and sapphires and diamonds vanished; he could see nothing but the exquisite emeralds. He picked up one--still warm with Kitty's pulsing life--and toyed with it. Actually, the drums! And all this time they had been inviting the first comer to appropriate them. Money, love, tragedy, death; history, pageants, lovely women; murder and loot! All these days on the step of the fire-escape ladder! He must have one of them; positively he must. Could he prevail upon Hawksley to sell one? Had he carried them through sentiment? He turned to broach the suggestion of purchase, but remained mute. Hawksley's head was sunk upon his chest; his arms hung limply at the sides of his chair. “He is fainting!” cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves. “Cutty!”--desperately, fearing to touch Hawksley herself. “No! The stones, the stones! Take them away--out of sight! I'm too done in! I can't stand it! I can't--The Red Night! Torches and hobnailed boots!” CHAPTER XXXIII Her fingers seemingly all thumbs, her heart swelling with misery and loneliness, wanting to go to him but fearing she would be misunderstood, Kitty scooped up the dazzling stones and poured them hastily into the tobacco pouch, which she thrust into Cutty's hands. What she had heard was not the cry of a disordered brain. There was some clear reason for the horror in Hawksley's tones. What tragedy lay behind these wonderful prisms of colour that the legitimate owner could not look upon them without being stirred in this manner? “Take them into the study,” urged Kitty. “Wait!” interposed Hawksley. “I give one of the emeralds to you, Cutty. They came out of hell--if you want to risk it! The other is for Miss Conover, with Mister Hawksley's compliments.” He was looking at Kitty now, his face drawn, his eyes bloodshot. “Don't be apprehensive. They bring evil only to men. With one in your possession you will be happy ever after, as the saying goes. Oh, they are mine to give; mine by right of inheritance. God knows I paid for them!” “If I said Mister--” began Kitty, her brain confused, her tongue clumsy. “You haven't forgiven!” he interrupted. “A thoroughbred like you, to hold last night against me! Mister--after what we two have shared together! Why didn't you leave me there to die?” Cutty observed that the drama had resolved itself into two characters; he had been relegated to the scenes. He tiptoed toward his study door, and as he slipped inside he knew that Gethsemane was not an orchard but a condition of the mind. He tossed the pouch on his desk, eyed it ironically, and sat down. His, one of them--one of those marvellous emeralds was his! He interlaced his fingers and rested his brow upon them. He was very tired. Kitty missed him only when she heard the latch snap. She was alone with Hawksley; and all her terror returned. Not to touch him, not to console him; to stand staring at him like a dumb thing!