Within the room they had just quitted, Margaret lay breathless and listening, but when there penetrated to her ears the echo of Geoff's insulting speech, she arose with a dizzy aching head and with trembling fingers began to dress. The two men were standing at the head of the stairs. Geoff was saying sneeringly: “For a fellow of your stamp you have done well. I can congratulate you even if I can't my sister.” Franz was silent. He simply looked from underneath straight brows at his tormentor, biting his lips. “You have done a fine thing for yourself. My sister's money will find more uses than ever. Of course, it was the main attraction.” Still Franz was silent. “Why don't you deny the truth of what I say?” Geoff insisted. “Why don't you tell me I lie, you fool?” “If you speak to me like that again, I'll not be responsible for what I do,” said Franz evenly. “I congratulate you—you have done a fine thing for yourself. It means ease and plenty.” He stretched out his hand mockingly. Franz struck the extended hand roughly with his fist. “What you insinuate is a lie! You are a coward to get behind the advantage you have of me—a coward!” Geoff dropped back a step. With his cane he hit Franz lightly at first, and then made as if to repeat the blow. Forgetting everything but his hate for the man before him, Franz put out his hand to take Geoff by the throat. It was then the cane descended, striking him across the temples. Instantly foot and hand alike were stayed. He reeled as though he would fall,—putting up both hands to his eyes. Geoff saw the door of his sister's room swing open, and turning with an oath from Franz, who stood swaying unsteadily, he ran down the stairs. In the hall Franz lurched from side to side, his hands to his face. “Franz,” Margaret called, “Franz, dear! what did he do?” With staggering uncertain steps he started toward her. “Franz!” she called. “Dear Franz! what is it?” He gave no answer. He only groped his way nearer, and she saw the cruel red welts just above his eyes. He had come almost to her, when he sank to his knees at her feet. “Franz, dear!” she cried, “what is it? Are you hurt, my love? Are you hurt?” She put her cool palm against his forehead, and kneeling beside him slipped an arm around his neck. She felt him tremble as though every nerve and muscle in his body were wrenched and torn. As she clung to him a chill stole into her own heart. She, too, could only crouch and cower and shudder. Finally he spoke in strange hushed accents. “Margaret, I can't see! It is all black—black as night in front of me!” She pressed close in his arms, and with her little hand she chafed his brow where the red line burned and stung. He stood erect once more and slowly turned about as if in quest of something. “Margaret, how does the light come? Is it there?” He faced the wall—the window at his back. She had moved with him, her glance fastened upon his eyes. They were fixed in a stony glare.