Stung to rebellion by her scorn, Gipsy put her little hand behind her, answering proudly: “The ring is mine, not yours, for by your own confession you gave it back to Mr. Willoughby. Since he deemed me worthy to wear it, and commanded me not to remove it, the ring shall never leave my hand, save at his desire!” “You defy me?” “If you call that defiance!” and the dark eyes flashed with pride and spirit. She was determined to hold out bravely against the injustice of Lelia’s demand, but she was not prepared for the lengths to which her jealous rival would go. With a cry like an enraged tigress, Lelia flung herself on the other, to possess herself of the ring by force. Gipsy, weakened by her two weeks’ illness, was no match for her furious antagonist. But with courage born of desperation, she tried to defend her rights. There in the glow of the moonlight that streamed into the open window, the beautiful rivals struggled madly for possession of the diamond that meant so much to both; and the angels above must have looked on in wonder and pity at the strange scene. With throbbing hearts, with low cries of anger, each strained every nerve for mastery, the one to retain the ring, the other to possess it. Excitement gave to both a fictitious strength, but Gipsy had been at a disadvantage from the first, and as Lelia’s rage grew to murderous fury, her hatred could brook no further resistance. Infuriated by Gipsy’s defiance, impatient of delay, she flung one hand out blindly toward a little table near-by, and grasped the first thing she touched--a heavy cut-glass paper-weight. Already she had her knees pressed into Gipsy’s chest, stifling her breath, and one hand wound in the tresses of her dark hair. A minute more and she would achieve a bloodless victory. But her anger could not wait. A blind, jealous wrath drove her on to a terrible deed. Once, twice she lifted a murderous hand and struck Gipsy on her head with the improvised weapon. Then it was that two loud shrieks rang out fearfully upon the midnight air, and roused every sleeper in the house. Blank silence then, while Gipsy fell like a log from her chair, blood spurting from her head over Lelia’s gown. “I have killed her, I must fly!” muttered Lelia, wildly wrenching the ring in savage haste from the limp, unresisting hand and rushing to the door. CHAPTER XVI. A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY. Every sleeper at The Crags--roused by those two loud and piercing shrieks of commingled horror, pain, and fear--sat up in their beds, or sprang wildly out upon the floor, with cold chills of dread creeping down their spines, and the dew of terror beading their brows. One, braver than the rest, ran to his door, tearing it open, listening for a repetition of the awful sounds.