r he has bitten me,
though I managed to jump on him before he bit you two."

He took off his coat--blood was on his shirt sleeve and had run down
his arm. Helen, pale and with a great sob in her throat, rolled up
the sleeve, Travis submitting, with a strange pallor in his face and
the new light in his eyes.

His bare arm came up strong and white. Above the elbow, near the
shoulder, the blood still flowed where the fangs had sunk.

"There is only one chance to save me," he said quietly, "and that, a
slim one. It bleeds--if I could only get my lips to it--"

He tried to expostulate, to push her off, as he felt her lips against
his naked arm. But she clung there sucking out the virus. He felt her
tears fall on his arm. He heard her murmur:

"My dying lion--my dying lion!"

He bent and whispered: "You are risking your own life for me, Helen!
Life for life--death for death!"

It was too much even for his great strength, and when he recovered
himself he was sitting on the sand of the little cave. How long she
had clung to his arm he did not know, but it had ceased to pain him
and her own handkerchief was tied around it.

He staggered out, a terrible pallor on his face, as he said: "Not
this way--not to go this way. Oh, God, your blow--I care not for
death, but, oh, not this death?"

"Clay," he said after a while--"Take her--take her to your mother and
sister to-night. I must bid you both good-night, ay, and good-bye.
See, you walk only across the field there--that is Westmoreland."

He turned, but he felt some one clinging to his hand, in the dark. He
looked down at her, at the white, drawn face, beautiful with a
terrible pain: "Take me--take me," she begged--"with you--to the end
of the world--oh, I love you and I care not who knows."

"Child--child"--he whispered sadly--"You know not what you say. I am
dying. I shall be mad--unless--unless what you have done--"

"Take me," she pleaded--"my lion. I am yours."

He stooped and kissed her and then walked quickly away.

CHAPTER XX

THE ANGEL WITH THE FLAMING SWORD

It was nearly time for the mill to close when Mammy Maria, her big
honest face beaming with satisfaction at the surprise she had in
store for Helen, began to wind her red silk bandana around her head.
She had several bandanas, but when Lily saw her put on the red silk
one, the little girl knew she was going out--"dressin' fur
prom'nade"--as the old lady termed it.

"You are going after He