like a double exposure on a single negative, hung the film of terror.
The Reverend Orme, his hands half outstretched, walked slowly toward
Manoel.

Suddenly the Portuguese crouched as though to spring. As quick as the
gleam of a viper's tongue, Leighton's long arms shot out. Straight for
the man's throat went his hands. They closed, the long, white fingers
around a swarthy neck, thumbs doubled in, their knuckles sinking into
the throat. Lewis felt as though it were his own eyes that started from
their sockets. With a scream, he turned and ran.

He cast himself beneath the shelter of the first low-hanging
orange-tree. He saw the Reverend Orme stalk by, bearing Shenton in his
arms. For the first time in his life Lewis heard the sobs of a grown
man, and instinctively knew himself the possessor of a secret thing--a
thing that must never be told.

At the house, alarmed by Natalie's incoherent, excited chatter and
Lalia's stubborn silence, Mrs. Leighton waited in suspense. Leighton
entered with his burden and laid it down. Then he turned. She saw his
face.

"Orme!" she cried, "_Orme!_" and started toward him, groping as though
she had been blinded.

"Touch me not, Ann," spoke Leighton, with a strange calmness. "Thank
God! the mark of Cain is on my brow."