While he stood there the clock under the church
cupola above struck the quarters and clanged out the hour, followed,
after a becoming pause, by the gatehouse clock across the river, and
such others as the twin towns possessed.

It was nine o'clock. Vincent Holroyd was waiting there on the terrace,
stern and pitiless.

Mark made a movement as if to leave the recess, and then stopped
short. It was no use; he could not face Holroyd. He looked over the
side, down on the water swirling by, in which the few house lights
were reflected in a dull and broken glimmer. Was there any escape for
him there?

It would only be a plunge down into that swollen rushing torrent, and
he would be past all rescue. An instant of suffocating pain, then
singing in his ears, sparks in his eyes, unconsciousness--annihilation
perhaps--who knew? Just then any other world, any other penalty,
seemed preferable to life and Mabel's contempt!

From the recess he could see an angle of the hotel, and one of the
windows of their room. It was lighted; Mabel was sitting there in the
arm-chair, perhaps waiting for him. If he went back he must tell her.
If he went back!

Whether he lived or died, she was equally lost to him now. His life
would bring her only misery and humiliation--at least he could leave
her free!

Vincent would speak and think less hardly of him then, and, if not,
would it matter?

His mind was made up--he would do it! He looked towards Mabel's window
with a wild, despairing gaze. 'Forgive me!' he cried with a hoarse
sob, as if she could hear, and then he threw off his hat and sprang
upon the broad parapet.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

ON THE LAUFENPLATZ.

Vincent had left the _Gasthaus zur Post_, the old-fashioned inn
outside Klein-Laufingen, at which he had taken up his quarters for the
night, a little before nine, and walked down the street, with his mind
finally made up as to the course he meant to take, although he shrank
from the coming interview almost as intensely as Mark himself. He
passed under the covered way of the bridge, and had nearly reached the
open part, when he recognised the man he was coming to meet standing
in one of the recesses. He noticed him look round in evident fear of
observation--he did not seem, however, to have seen or heard Vincent,
and presently the latter saw him throw his hat away, as if in
preparation for action of some sort. Vincent guessed at once what he
was intending to do; it darted across