“The world shall know the tale of your lust, and the sun shall not go down upon your iniquity. Under false promises you betrayed the sweetest flower in God's garden. Basely you taunted her in her hour of need. Murder and suicide are on your head. There is the record for all who wish to read it. Read it,” he cried, flinging the newspaper at Mrs. Hardacre's feet. “Read how she killed her newborn babe, the child of this devil, and then hanged herself.” Jimmie came two or three steps forward. “Stop this mad foolery,” he cried. Stone glared at him for a fraction of a second, thrust his hand into the breast-pocket of his frock-coat, drew out a revolver, and shot him. Jimmie staggered as a streak of fire passed through him, and swung round. The women shrieked and rushed together behind the princess and the duchess, who remained calmly seated. The men with one impulse sprang forward to seize the madman; but as he leaped aside and threatened his assailants with his revolver, they hung back. The band stopped short in the middle of a bar. Norma and Connie Deering and one or two others who had been in the house, unaware of the commotion of the last few minutes, ran out on the terrace as they heard the shot and the sudden cessation of the band. They saw the crowd of frightened, nervous people below, and the grotesque figure in his rusty black pointing the pistol. And they saw Jimmie march up to him, and in a dead silence they heard him say: “Give me that revolver. What is a silly fool like you doing with fire-arms? You could n't hit a haystack at a yard's distance. Give it to me, I say.” The man's arm was outstretched, and the pistol was aimed point-blank at Jimmie. Connie Deering gripped Norma's arm, and Norma, feeling faint, grew white to the lips. “Give it to me,” said Jimmie again. The man wavered, his arm drooped slightly; with the action of one who takes a dangerous thing from a child, Jimmie quietly wrenched the revolver from his grasp. Norma gave a gasp of relief and began to laugh foolishly. Connie clapped her hands in excitement. “Did n't I tell you he was a man? By heavens, the only one in the lot!” Jimmie pointed towards the terrace steps. “Go!” he said. But there was a rush now to seize the disarmed Stone, the red coats of the bandsmen mingling with the black of the guests. Jimmie, with a curious flame through his shoulder and a swimming in his head, swerved aside. Morland ran up, with a white face. “My God! He has hit you. I thought he had missed.” “No,” said Jimmie, smiling at the reeling scene. “I'm all right. Keep the photograph. It was silly to give one's photograph away. I always was a fool.”