"You see, Jim, I've killed a man!" he went on, gaspingly--"And--and--I've no money--we all share and share alike in camp--it won't be worth any one's while to find excuses for me. They'd shut me up in prison if I lived--but now--God's my judge! And He's merciful--He's giving me my liberty!" His eyelids fell wearily, and a shadow, dark at first, and then lightening into an ivory pallor, began to cover his features like a fine mask, at sight of which the girls, Elizabeth and Grace, with their mother, knelt down and hid their faces. Every one in the room knelt too, and there was a profound stillness. Tom's breathing grew heavier and more laboured,--once they made an attempt to lift the weight of his child's dead body from his breast, but his hands were clenched upon it convulsively and they could not loosen his hold. All at once Elizabeth lifted her head and prayed aloud-- "O God, have mercy on our poor friend Tom, and help him through the Valley of the Shadow! Grant him Thy forgiveness for all his sins, and let him find----" here she broke down and sobbed pitifully,--then between her tears she finished her petition--"Let him find his little child with Thee!" A low and solemn "Amen" was the response to her prayer from all present, and suddenly Tom opened his eyes with a surprised bright look. "Is Kiddie all right?" he asked. "Yes, Tom!" It was Elizabeth who answered, bending over him--"Kiddie's all right! He's fast asleep in your arms." "So he is!" And the brilliancy in Tom's eyes grew still more radiant, while with one hand he caressed the thick dark curls that clustered on the head of his dead boy--"Poor little chap! Tired out, and so am I! It's very cold surely!" "Yes, Tom, it is. Very cold!" "I thought so! I--I must keep the child warm. They'll be worried in camp over all this--Kiddie never stays out so late. He's such a little fellow--only four!--and he goes to bed early always. And when--when he's asleep--why then--then--the day's over for me,--and night begins--night begins!" The smile lingered on his lips, and settled there at last in coldest gravity,--the fine mask of death covered his features with an impenetrable waxen stillness--all was over! Tom o' the Gleam had gone with his slain child, and the victim he had sacrificed to his revenge, into the presence of that Supreme Recorder who chronicles all deeds both good and evil, and who, in the character of Divine Justice, may, perchance, find that the sheer brutal selfishness of the modern social world is more utterly to be condemned, and more criminal even than murder. CHAPTER XI