And thus it was when Lord Francis exclaimed, “Too late! O Heaven! to think my own eyes should be witness of my own eternal shame, and--hers,” the hand of Fate was stretched out against the intriguing and vicious Count de Mürger. For as Lord Francis staggered back to his room, dazed, stunned, the cold tears welling up into his eyes, his head on his arms, his whole form limp with shattered nerves, a new and terrible power was created within him. He fell into a chair, entirely overcome, and for a little while appeared to sleep. But it was the sleep that awakens, the mesmeric sleep that walks and acts, the dream-sleep that takes possession of body and mind; such sleep as that which afflicted _Lady Macbeth_ after the murder of _Duncan_. Hardly had De Mürger surprised the startled Fenella than Lord Francis arose from the chair and retraced his steps toward his wife’s room. While all that he knew of himself was asleep, Nature, in one of its strangest freaks, propelled him forth. “Back, sir! How dare you come here?” Lady Francis was exclaiming as he entered the room. De Mürger had just risen from his knees, and in Fenella’s hand, raised above her head, was a gleaming dagger. “But, my dear Fenella, listen,” said the count. “Back, I say! Touch me, and I will kill you!” “Oh, this is foolish bravado,” the Frenchman answered. “Another word, and I will alarm the house.” “That would only be to ruin your reputation,” said the daring lover. “God knows I have not much reputation to lose in the eyes of the world, since it seems I have given you sufficient encouragement to bring you here.” “Well, then, why be cruel now? You know I love you dearly!” As he made this last appeal, Fenella stood transfixed, her eyes no longer upon his, but gazing, as it seemed, on vacancy. “Hush,” she whispered, her eyes fixed, her figure rigid with fear. She saw her husband steal ghostlike into the room; noted his blanched face, his lips blue, his eyes piercing bright. He seemed to glide toward her like an animal creeping upon its prey. “Ah, you relent,” said the count, approaching her with loving action, at which the apparition of the avenging husband paused. For a moment Lady Francis thought it was an apparition, the unreal creation of her fears; but as it came crouching on again as if ready to spring, she realized the dreadful situation, and in response to the count in his fool’s paradise, she whispered, “Hush! your hour has come, and mine. And, O Heaven, he will never know I am innocent!” The next moment the stealthy figure rose up and seemed to smite the count as an anaconda might. There was no noise, no thudding blow; but a great iron grip held him by the throat, and in a moment later the dagger was taken from the hand of Lady Francis and was thrust into the heart of the already dying man. Presently the deed was done, and the murderer stood face to face with his wife. He looked at her as if he saw her not. She spoke; he did not seem to hear her.