a very convenient dagger in my belt--I think it has a point--which
you are welcome to use for the purpose; but, for heaven's sake,
don't rant about it--do it! You can kill me--of course you can;
but you cannot--mark this well, Denzil!--you cannot prevent my
loving the same woman whom you love. I think instead of raving
about the matter here in the moonlight, which has the effect of
making us look like two orthodox villains in a set stage-scene,
we'd better make the best of it, and resolve to abide by the
lady's choice in the matter. What say you? You have known her for
many days,--I have known her for two hours. You have had the first
innings, so you cannot complain."

Here he playfully unfastened the Bedouin knife which hung at his
belt and offered it to Denzil, holding it delicately by the
glittering blade.

"One thrust, my brave boy!" he said. "And you will stop the Ziska
fever in my veins at once and forever. But, unless you deal the
murderer's blow, the fever will go on increasing till it reaches
its extremest height, and then ..."

"And then?" echoed Denzil.

"Then? Oh--God only knows what then!"

Denzil thrust away the offered weapon with a movement of aversion.

"You can jest," he said. "You are always jesting. But you do not
know--you cannot read the horrible thoughts in my mind. I cannot
resolve their meaning even to myself. There is some truth in your