Laying her hand reverently upon his shoulder she pressed him into his
room, set the lamp aside, and let him clasp her wildly in his arms.

"Save me, Isabel," he moaned again. "Save me."

"From what, dear heart,--from what can I save you?" She drew him to a
seat and knelt beside him.

"From the green-eyed demon that has gnawed, gnawed, gnawed at my heart
till it is rent to shreds, and at my brain--my brain!--till it is almost
gone." His brow drooped to hers. "Almost gone, beloved; my brain is
almost gone."

"No, Arthur, dearest, no, no, no; your heart is torn, but your mind,
thank God, is whole. This is only a mood. Come, it will pass with one
night's sleep."

Still he held her brow beneath his. "Save me, Isabel; my soul is almost
gone. Oh, save me from the fiends that come before me and behind me, by
night and by day, eyes shut or eyes open."

"My husband! my love! how can I save you? How can I help you? Tell me
how."

"Hear me! hear me confess! That will save me, oh, so sweetly, so
sweetly! That will save me from the faces--the white, white faces that
float on that black pool down yonder, and move their accusing lips at
me: _his_ face--and mine--and thine. Oh, Isabel, until you stood
before me in the golden light of your lamp, transfigured into a