of the dining-room, and he was too exhausted to move for a while.  By degrees, however, he recovered sufficiently to stand; and as soon as he could do so by himself, with devilish cunning he made for the lamp, which he struck, quick as lightning, with a stick that had been lying on the table.  In an instant the great round globe fell to pieces, but luckily the chimney was not broken, and the lamp remained alight, and before he could strike another blow at it I had grappled with him again.  This time he struggled violently for a few moments, and seemed to think that he was dealing with Bransome, for he shrieked, “What! have you come back from the sea?  You are wet! you are wet!” and shuddering, he tried to free himself from my hold; and I, not liking to hurt him, let him go, taking care to keep myself between him and the lamp.

“Back from me, you villain of hell!” he cried, as soon as he was free.  “What have you done with her? what have you done with her?” And then, in a tone of weird and pathetic sorrow, “Where is my little one that I loved?  I have sought her many a year; oh, why did she forsake me?  Aha, Sooka! we were right to send him to the hell whence he came—­the lying, false-hearted scoundrel, to steal away my white dove!”

After which he drew from his finger a solid gold ring which he always wore, and threw it from him, saying, with a wild laugh, “There! that’s for any one that likes it; I’m a dead man.”  He then staggered toward his own room, and I, remembering the loaded revolver which still lay on the chest of drawers, tried to intercept him.  In his rage, for I verily believe that he also remembered that the weapon was there, he spat in my face, and struck me with all his force between the eyes; but I stuck to him, and with the help of the boy, who had been all this time in hiding, but who came forward at my call, I laid him for the last time upon his bed.  There he lay exhausted for the remainder of the night; but there was no rest for me; I felt that I had to watch him now for my own safety.

Toward morning, however, his breathing became, all at once, very heavy and slow, and I bent over him in alarm.  As I did so, I heard him sigh faintly, “Lucy!” and at that moment the native boy softly placed something upon the bed.  I took it up.  It was the ring the sick man had thrown away in the night, and as I looked at it I saw “James, from Lucy” engraved on its inside surface, and I knew that the dead woman was his wife.

As the first faint streaks of dawn stole into the room, the slow-drawn breathing of the dying man ceased.  I listened—­it came again—­once—­twice—­and then all was silence.  He was dead, and I realised in the sudden stillness that had come upon the room that I was alone.  Yet he had passed away so quietly after his fitful fever that I could not bring myself to believe that he was really gone, and I stood looking at the body, fearing to convince myself of the truth by touching it.