Then he hurried away with his attendants, and Brenda was left alone with her husband and Wilfred. Harold was quite unconscious, but breathing faintly, and as she bent over him, with an agonized face, she prayed that God would spare his life. Wilfred stood beside her and looked down silently on that countenance waxen in the light of the lantern. As he stood there, as Brenda placed Harold's head on her knees, both heard a mocking voice beside them. "Well, Mrs. Burton, you are a widow at last!" She gave a cry of horror at the ill-omened words, and Wilfred turned with a bound to clutch Van Zwieten by the throat. "You hound!" he cried. "You miserable dog!" and he hurled the big man to the ground. Taken by surprise, the Dutchman had fallen; but he rose to his feet with an ugly scowl, cursing bitterly. "I'll pay you out for this!" he said menacingly. "At present my business is with Mrs. Burton." "I refuse to speak to you," cried she. "You are a wicked man, and God will punish you." "I rather think that it is you who have been punished," he sneered. "Your husband is dead, or pretty near it. Now it is my turn." "He is not dead. He will live when you are lying in your grave. Leave me; you have done harm enough!" "But he has not paid for it!" cried Wilfred, savagely. "No, nor will he pay!" cried Van Zwieten, defiantly. Wilfred pulled out his revolver. "I will make you pay!" he said. "You shall fight me!" The Dutchman was no coward, but he drew back from the terrible expression on the young man's face, accentuated as it was in the strong moonlight. "I refuse to fight with you," he said sullenly. "This matter has nothing to do with you. If I choose to marry your brother's widow, that is my business. Mind your own!" "You shall marry no one," said Wilfred, harshly, "for I intend to kill you." Brenda did not speak. She listened absently while the two men wrangled. Van Zwieten looked at her for a moment, then he turned his back on Wilfred. "I will not fight you," he repeated. The other man sprang forward and struck him on the cheek with his fist. "Will that make you fight?" With a roar of rage Van Zwieten turned and flung himself forward. He caught the younger man in his arms like a child and threw him on the grass. Then he drew out his revolver and fired at the prostrate man. But Brenda had looked up, and seeing his intention had sprung to her feet and grasped his arm. The shot went wide, and in his rage Van Zwieten struck her--the woman he loved--struck her to the ground. And before he could recover himself sufficiently to fire a second time, he fell with a hoarse cry, shot twice through the breast by Wilfred Burton. "Nemesis has come up with you at last," said the young man, picking up Brenda in his arms. The sound of the shots had attracted the attention of the men near at hand. "Good God, Burton, what have you done?" cried an officer. "Killed some vermin," was the reply. "Here, bring the ambulance along and put Burton into it."