e in the heart of the woods--"

"Don't!" he lifted his face, white with agony. "Your suffering can but
increase mine. Go back, dear, and forget. Our paths crossed too late,
too late. Go back, and leave me to my lonely struggles. I shall miss
you, oh, my beloved,--" the words choked him, "forget, forget--"

"Never!" again she moved toward him, and again drew back. The iron
muzzle had touched her shoulder, warningly. She still held her hands
fast clasped between her knees. Suddenly she loosed them; opened them,
looked at them; so frail, so small, so delicately womanly as they
were. He, too, saw them, the dear hands, and made a motion to clasp
them, restrained himself, and groaned. She understood, and her whole
soul responded. The old calm was gone; the wife forgotten. It was only
the _woman_ that spoke as she slipped from her place beside him, to
the ground at his feet; and extended the poor hands toward him.

"Donald, O Donald!" she sobbed. "Look at my hands. How frail they are,
and weak, and white, and _clean_. Aye, they are clean, Donald. Take
them in your own; hold them fast one moment, for they are worthy. But
oh, my beloved, if they falter or go wrong, those little hands, who
would pity their polluted owner? Not you, oh, not you. I know the
sequel to such madness. _Help_ me to keep them clean. Help me--oh,
help me!"

She lifted them pleadingly, the tears raining down her cheeks. She,
the strong, the noble, appealing to him. In that moment she became a
saint, a being to be worshipped afar off, like God.

"Help me!" She appealed to him, to his manhood which he had supposed
dead so long the hollow corpse would scarcely hear the judgment trump.

Her body swayed to and fro with the terrible struggle. Aye, she knew
what it was to be tempted. She who would have died for that poor
drunkard's peace. But that little mound--that little child's grave on
the hill--"Help me!" She reeled forward and he sprang to clasp her.
The rifle slipped its place against the log; but it was _between_ them
still; the iron muzzle pointed at her heart. There was a flash, a
sharp report, and she fell, just missing the arms extended to receive
her.

"O my God!" the cry broke from him, a wild shriek, torn from his
inmost heart. "O my God! my God! I have killed her. Alice! oh, speak
to me! _speak_ to me before my brain goes mad." He had dropped beside
her, on his knees, and drawn the poor face to his bosom. She opened
her eyes and nestled the