in the instant that the sublime spirit of the gold woman conquered the beast who baited her lavelle burst over the crest of the hill from the southern slope.

like the captain of an avenging host marching with banners of flame he came into emily granville's vision. a pallor as of death was in his face; a fire of irrevocable decision in the glance with which he swept the scene before him into his comprehension.

as that glance touched emily she started toward her deliverer only to stop.

lavelle's hand fell on rowgowskii's shoulder and hurled him round before him. the craven crumpled to his knees. the beginning of a cry of terror died in his throat in a mute gasp. to him this man who stood over him was come back from the dead.

"pray—if you can," said lavelle in a grim voice of fate. he stepped back a pace as he spoke.

it was a pronouncement of doom that he had uttered. rowgowskii's gaze went from lavelle to emily. his hands went out to her in supplication. his lips moved but made no sound.

"captain," she called pityingly.

she took a step toward him. without turning "the shadow" raised a staying hand.

rowgowskii turned from emily at her call to meet again the merciless gaze of lavelle.

"pray," said lavelle, moving toward him.

the light of all reason went out of the doomed man's face. a maniacal cry burst from him. he leaped to his feet. lavelle sprang at him. with a speed of a hawk's swoop the russian turned and fled to the cliff. a second he hesitated on the brink and then plunged over it headlong.

a moment of silence, then a splash and a lingering cry echoed up the face of the cliff. the gold woman's tortured nerves relaxed. senseless she dropped where she stood.