ied a drawn
sword.

"I signed to him to keep away, but he continued to advance.
I told him again very patiently and clearly: 'You must not come
here. These are old temples and I am here with my dead.'

"Presently he was so close I could see his face clearly. It
was a narrow face, with dull gray eyes, and a black moustache. He
had a scar on his upper lip, and he was dirty and unshaven. He
kept shouting unintelligible things, questions, perhaps, at me.

"I know now that he was afraid of me, but at the time that did
not occur to me. As I tried to explain to him, he interrupted me
in imperious tones, bidding me, I suppose, stand aside.

"He made to go past me, and I caught hold of him.

"I saw his face change at my grip.

"'You fool,' I cried. 'Don't you know? She is dead!'

"He started back. He looked at me with cruel eyes. I saw a
sort of exultant resolve leap into them--delight. Then, suddenly,
with a scowl, he swept his sword back--_so_--and thrust."

He stopped abruptly.

I became aware of a change in the rhythm of the train. The
brakes lifted their voices and the carriage jarred and jerked.
This present world insisted upon itself, became clamourous. I saw
through the steamy window huge electric fights glaring down from
tall masts upon a fog, saw rows of stationary empty carriages
passing by, and then a signal-box hoisting its constellation of
green and red into the murky London twilight, marched after them.
I looked again at his drawn features.

"He ran me through the heart. It was with a sort of
astonishment--no fear, no pain--but just amazement, that I felt it
pierce me, felt the sword drive home into my body. It didn't hurt,
you know. It didn't hurt at all."

The yellow platform lights came into the field of view,
passing first rapidly, then slowly, and at last stopping with a
jerk. Dim shapes of men passed to and fro without.

"Euston!" cried a voice.

"Do you mean--?"

"There was no pain, no sting or smart. Amazement and then
darkness sweeping over everything. The hot, brutal face before me,
the face of the man who had killed me, seemed to recede. It swept
out of existence--"

"Euston!" clamoured the voices outside; "Euston!"

The carriage door opened admitting a flood of sound, and a
porter stood regarding us. The sounds of doors slamming, and the
hoof-clatter of cab-horses, and behind these things the featureless
remote roar of the London cobble-stones, came to my ears