his bullets. With a
desperate effort, he let go one arm and struck. The man's grip relaxed
and he tore it away, gasping greedily for breath.

Marishka in terror had at first slunk into a corner, listening to the
fearful sounds of the combat--following it with her ears from one part
of the room to another. What must she do? Gathering courage, she passed
the foot of the bed, and grasping for the table found the match box and
managed to light the candle.

They were upon the floor near one of the windows over the valley, locked
in a deadly grip, breathing in terrible gasps. She must do something to
help--something--for as the glow fell upon them they seemed to struggle
upward against the wall by the window, upon the sill. She could not make
out which was which--but instinctively she seemed to realize their
deadly purpose--death for one or both on the rocks below! The hanging at
the window came crashing down and enveloped them, but they did not know.
They were drunk with the lust of killing--mad!

Out of the confusion she saw Goritz rise smiling, straining with his
arms, hauling Renwick over the sill. Death! Hers, too, then! With a cry
of despair she reached them, clinging with her arms around Renwick's
waist.

Goritz opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came forth. He might have
struck her down but he did not. Instead he rose with one foot upon the
sill in one supreme effort to throw Renwick over, but the Englishman,
already half out of the window, got his right arm loose, and swinging
with all the strength left to him, launched a terrible blow at his
adversary. It struck him on the point of the chin. Goritz staggered,
lost his balance, toppled for a moment in the air, his grip on the
Englishman's collar, which tore loose as he fell--out--into the black
abyss....

Renwick sprawled half across the wide sill, but Marishka clung
desperately, dragging him in--to safety. He toppled in upon the floor
and lay motionless while Marishka hovered over him.

"Hugh----!" she cried. "Hugh!"

Renwick struggled up slowly, trying to speak, but his chest heaved
convulsively, and he could only gasp meaninglessly.

"All--right," he managed to utter after a moment.

She got water and he drank of it.

"You're hurt--you're covered with blood."

"No, no----" he gasped, "winded."

"But the blood!"

"His. I had shot him--through the body."

Marishka peered toward the window and shuddered.

"His face--Hugh--I can't forget."