than words. It held
unutterable things.

Dacre spoke at last, his voice low and hoarse. "I can't do it. There is
too much involved. Besides, it wouldn't really help. She would come to
know inevitably."

"She will never know." Inexorably came the answer, spoken with pitiless
insistence. "As to ways and means, I have provided for them. It won't be
difficult in this wilderness to cover your tracks. When the news has
gone forth that you are dead, no one will look for you."

A hard shiver went through Dacre. His hands clenched. He was as a man in
the presence of his executioner. The paralysing spell was upon him
again, constricting as a rope about his neck. But sacrifice was no part
of his nature. With despair at his heart, he yet made a desperate bid
for freedom.

"The whole business is outrageous!" he said. "It is out of the question.
I refuse to do it. Matters have gone too far. To all intents and
purposes, Stella is my wife, and I'm damned if any one shall come
between us. You may do your worst! I refuse."

Defiance was his only weapon, and he hurled it with all his strength;
but the moment he had done so, he realized the hopelessness of the
venture. Monck made a single, swift movement, and in a moment the
moonlight glinted upon the polished muzzle of a Service revolver. He
spoke, briefly, with iron coldness.

"The choice is yours. Only--if you refuse to give her--the sanctuary of
widowhood--I will! After all it would be the safest way for all
concerned."

Dacre went back a pace. "Going to murder me, what?" he said.

Monck's teeth gleamed in a terrible smile. "You need not--refuse," he
said.

"True!" Dacre was looking him full in the eyes with more of curiosity
than apprehension. "And--as you have foreseen--I shall not refuse under
those circumstances. It would have saved time if you had put it in that
light before."

"It would. But I hoped you might have the decency to act
without--persuasion." Monck was speaking between his teeth, but the
revolver was concealed again in the folds of his garment. "You will
leave to-night--at once--without seeing her again. That is understood."

It was the end of the conflict. Dacre attempted no further resistance.
He was not the man to waste himself upon a cause that he realized to be
hopeless. Moreover, there was about Monck at that moment a force that
restrained him, compelled instinctive respect. Though he hated the man
for his mastery, he could not despise him. For he