Throwing his arm around her waist he drew her forcibly to his side, pressing hot kisses on the shrinking face, while her shrieks rang wildly on the air--wildly, but unheeded, for they were in the country now on a lonely, unfrequented road, and the darkness of the wintry afternoon, together with the whirling snowflakes, made everything dim and indistinct. A very frenzy of rage possessed the wretched girl. She had said rightly that she could murder any one who came between her and Laurier. As she struggled wildly with Noel, she flung one hand up to her hair, whose dark, silken braids were pierced through with a strong but slender silver dagger with a jeweled hilt. Withdrawing it dexterously, she made a lunge at his breast. With a stifled oath he warded off the first blow, catching the point of the dagger in his own hand so that it pierced through, the blood spouting out in a fountain of crimson, but, withdrawing it quickly, she aimed again for his heart. “My God!” shrilled in agony from his lips as his arm fell, and the reins dropped from his hands while he sank an inert mass at the bottom of the sleigh. The next moment the black horse, frightened by her shrieks, had the bit between his teeth and was running away, while Cora, crouched in the seat wild-eyed, pale-faced, an image of horror, resigned herself to inevitable death. On over the frozen snow, through the whirling storm, he ran for over a mile, then--stumbling over some obstruction in the road, he came to a sudden stop, and the little sleigh overturned, throwing its occupants out into the drifted snow. One breathless moment and Cora scrambled to her feet unhurt, but not so the companion of her wild drive. Silent and pallid, a senseless heap with the blood staining his white shirt bosom and his wounded hand, Ernest Noel lay like one dead in the snow. “I have killed him!” the girl muttered wildly, but so terrible was her resentment that she felt no remorse for her deed, only a fierce joy that he was out of her way. “He deserved it all!” she muttered, casting her glance hurriedly around to see if there was any witness to her crime. But she was all alone with nature--nature in her stormiest mood, the wind shrieking in a rising gale, blowing the snow across the fields, bending and twisting the bare boughs of the trees, while the drifts were piled high against the rough stones of an old lime quarry close to the side of the road. In that lonely scene the desperate girl stood wild-eyed, breathless, still burning with rage that precluded all remorse. “If I could only hide him, if only the snowdrifts would cover him from my sight forever!” she exclaimed, and then her glance fell on the old quarry and lighted with intelligence. “I can throw him down there!” she muttered, and with a strength born of terror, dragged the inert body by the arms, and pushed it down into the pit.