to desert. It would make no
difference. Do not believe that any consideration would cause me
willingly to give you a moment's pain, or that I should shrink from
sacrificing myself to save you." With one of her small white hands she
gently pressed my head towards her. Her lips touched my forehead, and
she whispered: "Do not leave me. It will soon be over now. I--I--need
you."

As I was returning dejected after my fruitless appeal to Natalie, I met
Edith Metford, to whom I had unhappily mentioned my proposal for an
escape.

"Is it arranged? When do we start?" she asked eagerly.

"It is not arranged, and we do not start," I answered in despair.

"You told me you would go with her or without her," she cried
passionately. "It is shameful--unmanly."

"It is certainly both if I really said what you tell me. I was not
myself at the moment, and my tongue must have slandered me. I stay to
the end. But you will go. Captain Anderson will receive you--"

"How am I to be certain of that?"

"I paid him for your passage, and have his receipt."

"And you really think I would go and leave--leave--"

"Natalie? I think you would be perfectly justified."

At this the girl stamped her foot passionately on the ground and burst
into tears. Nor would she permit any of the slight caresses I offered.
I thought her old caprices were returning. She flung my arm rudely from
her and left me bewildered.

CHAPTER XVII.

"THIS EARTH SHALL DIE."

My memory does not serve me well in the scenes which immediately
preceded the closing of the drama in which Brande was chief actor. It is
doubtless the transcendental interest of the final situation which
blunts my recollection of what occurred shortly before it. I did not
abate one jot of my determination to fight my venture out unflinching,
but my actions were probably more automatic than reasoned, as the time
of our last encounter approached. On the whole, the fight had been a
fair one. Brande had used his advantage over me for his own purpose as
long as it remained with him. I used the advantage as soon as it passed
to me for mine. The conditions had thus been equalised when, for the
third and last time, I was to hear him address his Society.

This time the man was weak in health. His vitality was ebbing fast, but
his marvellous inspiration was strong within him, and, supported by it,
he battled manfully with the disease which I had manufactured for him.
His lecture-room was the fai