She struggled up--and watched--fascinated and silent; forgetting either to summon help or to flee. Round the room the men reeled, locked in each other's arms--staggering against chairs and tables--hurling them aside--overturning them--crushing the bric-a-brac under foot. They were down and up, and down and up--they rolled over and over, fighting without method--Lorraine striking wildly in the fury of insane rage, which gave him strength but deprived him of the power of thought. Amherst--taken unaware and weakened by his unhallowed passion, but with a trifle more deliberation in his manner, prevented the other from doing him serious harm.... Both had been cut by the broken ornaments or by corners of the furniture. Neither man spoke. Lorraine's face was set in the fury of hate--Amherst's in the fury of desperation. Lorraine was venting the pent up wrongs of months of brooding--Amherst was fighting for his life! he had no doubt of the other's intent to kill. He was trying to get away--to break his assailant's hold.... But through it all Lorraine managed some way, somehow, to keep his hold--and slowly to work his hands toward Amherst's throat--one of them was already there. Amherst made a frantic effort to unloose it. They staggered down the room--swept a cabinet bare of antiques--swayed a moment back and forth--then went down, Amherst underneath. As they writhed on the floor amid the fallen débris, Lorraine's hand touched a heavy, silver candlestick.--He seized it by the stem--there was a flash--and with all the strength of his insane fury, he brought it down on his enemy's head. Amherst's arms relaxed--his eyes closed and the blood gushed forth. Again the candlestick rose, and fell; this time squarely on the temple--and with crunch of metal on bone, the fresh spurt of blood, Amherst's body crumpled into an inert mass. Once more Lorraine's arm went up---- "Don't hit him again!" said Pendleton quietly--yet sharp as the crack of a whip. "You are striking a dead man, Lorraine." The candlestick slipped from Lorraine's fingers and he staggered up--the frenzied look on his face slowly faded into one of unrelenting comprehension. "Yes!" said he, glancing down unmoved at Amherst's body. "He is dead--damn him! I'm glad I killed him! The beast!---- Thank God! I came in time, dear," he exclaimed, turning to Stephanie. But Stephanie had fainted. Lorraine sprang toward her--to be brought up by Pendleton's quick command: "Let her alone for a moment--she has only fainted--and tell me how this happened." Lorraine, suddenly weak, collapsed on a chair. "Never mind--I'll get some brandy----"