"To my level! Take care; I am still a man, with a man's strength," cried the colonel. Karloff swept his hand across his forehead. "I have lied to myself long enough, and to you. I can see now that I have been working solely toward one end. My country is not to be considered, neither is yours. Do you realize that you stand wholly and completely in my power?" He ran his tongue across his lips, which burned with fever. "What do you mean?"--hoarsely. "I mean, your daughter must become my wife, or I shall notify your government that you have attempted to betray it." "You dishonorable wretch!" The colonel balled his fists and protruded his nether lip. Only the table stood between them. "That term or another, it does not matter. The fact remains that you have sold to me the fortification plans of your country; and though it be in times of peace, you are none the less guilty and culpable. Your daughter shall be my wife." "I had rather strangle her with these hands!"--passionately. "Well, why should I not have her for my wife? Who loves her more than I? I am rich; from hour to hour, from day to day, what shall I not plan to make her happy? I love her with all the fire and violence of my race and blood. I can not help it. I will not, can not, live without her! Good God, yes! I recognize the villainy of my actions. But I am mad to-night." "So I perceive." The colonel gazed wildly about the walls for a weapon. There was not even the usual ornamental dagger. A window again stirred mysteriously. A few drops of rain plashed on the glass and zigzagged down to the sash. "Sooner or later your daughter must know. Request her presence. It rests with her, not with you, as to what course I must follow." Karloff was extraordinarily pale, and his dark eyes, reflecting the dancing flames, sparkled like rubies. He saw the birth of horror in the elder's eyes, saw it grow and grow. He saw the colonel's lips move spasmodically, but utter no sound. What was it he saw over his (the count's) shoulders and beyond? Instinctively he turned, and what he saw chilled the heat of his blood. There stood the girl, her white dress marble-white against the dark wine of the portiere, an edge of which one hand clutched convulsively. Was it Medusa's beauty or her magic that turned men into stone? My recollection is at fault. At any rate, so long as she remained motionless, neither man had the power to stir. She held herself perfectly erect; every fiber in her young body was tense. Her beauty became weirdly powerful, masked as it was with horror, doubt, shame, and reproach. She had heard; little or much was of no consequence. In the heat of their variant passions, the men's voices had risen to a pitch that penetrated beyond the room. Karloff was first to recover, and he took an involuntary step toward her; but she waved him back disdainfully. "Do not come near me. I loathe you!" The voice was low, but every note was strained and unmusical.