But Lord Nick, with the gun in his hand, stared at it dumbly, turned the empty cylinder.  And the full horror crept slowly on his mind.  He had not killed his brother, he had murdered him.  As his eyes cleared, he caught the glitter of the eyes which surrounded him.

And then Lou Macon was on her knees with her hands clasped at her breast and her face glorious.

“Help!” she was crying.  “Help me.  He’s not dead, but he’s dying unless you help me!”

Then Lord Nick cast away his own revolver and the empty gun of Donnegan.  They heard him shout:  “Garry!” and saw him stride forward.

Instantly men pressed between, hard-jawed men who meant business.  It was a cordon he would have to fight his way through:  but he dissolved it with a word.

“You fools!  He’s my brother!”

And then he was on his knees opposite Lou Macon.

“You?” she had stammered in horror.

“His brother, girl.”

And ten minutes later, when the bandages had been wound, there was a strange sight of Lord Nick striding up the street with his victim in his arms.  How lightly he walked; and he was talking to the calm, pale face which rested in the hollow of his shoulder.

“He will live?  He will live?” Lou Macon was pleading as she hurried at the side of Lord Nick.

“God willing, he shall live!”

It was three hours before Donnegan opened his eyes.  It was three days before he recovered his senses, and looking aside toward the door he saw a brilliant shaft of sunlight falling into the room.  In the midst of it sat Lou Macon.  She had fallen asleep in her great weariness now that the crisis was over.  Behind her, standing, his great arms folded, stood the indomitable figure of Lord Nick.

Donnegan saw and wondered greatly.  Then he closed his eyes dreamily.  “Hush,” said Donnegan to himself, as if afraid that what he saw was all a dream.  “I’m in heaven, or if I’m not, it’s still mighty good to be alive.”