"Are you afraid, my wife?" "Not now. I am so happy!" He knew, strange though it seemed, that this was true and natural, because her love was stronger than life or the fear of death. "Do you trust me absolutely, Christine?" "Absolutely!" "Give me both your hands--in my one hand--so. Kiss me, sweetheart." In the same instant that his lips touched hers he lifted his right disengaged hand, and something icy-cold brushed past her temple. She clung to him. "Not yet, Harry! Not yet! Oh, don't think I don't understand. I do, and I am glad. If things had gone differently the time must have come when one of us would have been left lonely. Now, we are going together. What does it matter if it is a little sooner than we hoped? Only, not yet--just one minute! We have time. Do not let us waste it. Let us kneel down and say 'Our Father,' and then--for little John--" Her voice broke. "Afterward--when you think fit, husband, I shall be ready." He put his arm about her, and they knelt down side by side at the little couch. Christine prayed aloud, and he followed her, his deeper voice hushed to a whisper. The two other occupants of the room did not heed them. They, too, had found each other. At her husband's entrance Margaret Caruthers had crept back to the wall and had remained there motionless, not answering to his sharp, imperative call. He groped around the room, and when at length his hands touched her face, both drew back as one total stranger from another. "Why did you not answer?" he asked hoarsely. "Are you not aware that any moment may be our last?" "Yes," she said. "I have something I wish to say to you, Margaret, before the time comes." "I am listening." "I wish to say if at any period in our unfortunate married life I have done you wrong, I am sorry." She made no answer. "I ask your forgiveness." "I forgive you." The sound of firing outside had grown fainter, the shrieks louder, more exultant, mingling like an unearthly savage chorus with the hushed voices By the couch. --"Thy will be done--" prayed Christine valiantly. Margaret Caruthers lifted her head and laughed. "Don't laugh!" her husband burst out. "Pray now, if you have ever prayed in your life. You have need of prayers." He lifted his arm as he spoke; but, as though she guessed his intention, she sprang out of his reach. "No!" she said, in a voice concentrated with passion. "I am not going to die like that. Stafford can shoot his wife down like a piece of blind cattle if he thinks fit--but not you. I won't die by your hand, Steven. I hate you too much." "Hush!" he exclaimed. "The account between us is settled." "Do you think I can begin to love you just because we are both about to die?" "You are my wife," he answered, grasping her by the wrists. "There are things worse than death, and from them I shall shield you, whether you will or not." "Is it not enough that you have taken my life once?" she retorted. "What do you mean? How dare you say that!"