man shrinks from the cautery, from hearing anything about that
woman; herself so beautiful, yet moving in an atmosphere of
suspicion and horror. Was it shame, or fear, or some chivalrous
feeling having its origin in that moment when I had fancied
myself her knight? I am not sure, for I had not made up my mind
even now whether I ought to pity or detest her; whether she had
made a tool of me, or I had been false to her.

"She came up to the bed, you remember, Anne?" Croisette went on.
"You were next to her. She saw you indistinctly, and took you
for her sister. And then I sprang from the bed."

"I know you did!" I exclaimed sharply. All this time I had
forgotten that grievance. "You nearly frightened her out of her
wits, St. Croix. I cannot think what possessed you--why you did
it?"

"To save your life, Anne" he answered solemnly, "and her from a
crime! an unutterable, an unnatural crime. She had come back to
I can hardly tell it you--to murder her sister. You start. You
do not believe me. It sounds too horrible. But I could see
better than you could. She was exactly between you and the
light. I saw the knife raised. I saw her wicked face! If I had
not startled her as I did, she would have stabbed you. She
dropped the knife on the floor, and I picked it up and have it.
See!"

I looked furtively, and turned away again, shivering. "Why," I
muttered, "why did she do it?"