back to the wall and had remained there motionless, not answering to his
sharp, imperative call. He groped around the room, and when at length his
hands touched her face, both drew back as one total stranger from another.

"Why did you not answer?" he asked hoarsely. "Are you not aware that any
moment may be our last?"

"Yes," she said.

"I have something I wish to say to you, Margaret, before the time comes."

"I am listening."

"I wish to say if at any period in our unfortunate married life I have
done you wrong, I am sorry."

She made no answer.

"I ask your forgiveness."

"I forgive you."

The sound of firing outside had grown fainter, the shrieks louder, more
exultant, mingling like an unearthly savage chorus with the hushed voices
By the couch.

--"Thy will be done--" prayed Christine valiantly.

Margaret Caruthers lifted her head and laughed.