ngue to so false a sentiment as
congratulation.

"The killing--it must have been terrible!" her mind at last made her
exclaim to cover her tardiness of response to his mood.

"You thought of that--as you should--as I do!" he said.

He took her hands in his, pulsing warm with the flowing red of his
strength. She let them remain lifelessly, as if she had not the will to
take them away, the instinct of her part again dominant. To him this was
another victory, and it was discovery--the discovery of melting weakness
in her for the first time, which magnified his sense of masculine power.
He tightened his grip slightly and she shuddered.

"You are tired!" he said, and it hurt her that he could be so
considerate.

"The killing--to end that! It's that I want!" she breathed miserably.

"And the end is near!" he said. "Yes, now, thanks to you!"

Thanks to her! And she must listen and submit to his touch!

"The engineers and material were ready to go in," he continued. "Before
morning, as I had planned, we shall be so well fortified in the position
that nothing can budge us. This success so strengthens my power with the
staff and the premier that I need not wait on Fabian tactics. I am
supreme. I shall make the most of the demoralization of this blow to the
enemy. I shall not wait on slow approaches in the hope of saving life.
To-morrow I shall attack and keep on attacking till all the main line is
ours."

"Now you are playing your real part, the conqueror!" she thought gladly.
"Your kind of peace is the ruin of another people; the peace of a
helpless enemy. That is better"--better for her conscience. Unwittingly,
she allowed her hands to remain in his. In the paralysis of despair she
was unconscious that she had hands. She felt that she could endure
anything to retrieve the error into which she had been the means of
leading the Browns. And the killing--it would not stop, she knew. No,
the Browns would not yield until they were decimated.

"We have the numbers to spare. Numbers shall press home--home to terms
in their capital!" Westerling's voice grew husky as he proceeded, harsh
as orders to soldiers who hesitated in face of fire. "After that--after
that"--the tone changed from harshness to desire, which was still the
desire of possession--"the fruits of peace, a triumph that I want you to
share!" He was drawing her toward him with an impulse of the force of
this desire, when she broke free with an abrupt, struggling p