"You must not think of it," she whispered; "you must never think of it. There must be some other way--some better way. Not again, Charlie--for the love of God!--not again!" "There is no other way," I replied. "It is her soul against his body; when you think of that, there is no question. Besides, what does it matter? In the sight of men my hands are stained with blood----" (She seized my hands suddenly, and put her lips to them!) "--And at the worst it may happen that I pay the penalty I earned before. Besides," I added solemnly, "I do not do this of myself. Step by step--day by day--I have seen what was coming; I dare not draw back now, whatever happens. If it is a crime, then the man himself has drawn it down upon his own head. Think of what he has done: to get hold of this girl he has banished himself out of the world; has played a trick, to persuade people that he is going on a long voyage, while in reality he is in hiding--waiting like a spider in his web--crouching ready to spring. Think of that, Barbara; if I kill him to-night, I kill a man who has no name, who is unknown; Murray Olivant will be in another place altogether. For his own purposes he has covered up my footsteps--the footsteps of the man setting out to kill him. There is a fate in this; I dare not draw back." She clung to me, and begged that I would think of her and of the girl; implored me to remember that whereas the crime for which I had been shut away before was one of personal vengeance, with the hot blood of youth for excuse, this was a deliberate thing, done for others with whom I was not personally concerned. Upon that point, however, I threw a new light. "The girl sleeping there is but the image of the Barbara I loved; the boy who would strike this blow, if I did not, represents what I was--must represent in the future what I might have been under happier circumstances. I strike now for the love I bore you, Barbara, and bear you still; and because I know that if I do not this boy must step in, and commit the crime for which I suffered through twenty long years. There is no hope that he will turn back, any more than there is any hope that Murray Olivant will give up his purpose." She wept and implored me; to comfort her a little I presently promised that if I saw any other way I would take it; but in my own heart I knew there was no other way. "Remember--my dear--my dear," she pleaded, "that we have both had to suffer so much--to lose so much--to give up so much. Remember, too, what my position is now; that it is my fate to stand as a mere kindly stranger beside my child, and never to let her know who I really am. I must live out my life alone, as I have lived it these many years; I cannot go back now; the old Barbara Savell lies in the depths of the sea. That is my punishment, Charlie; don't make it harder to bear than it is."