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MY HUSBAND MY DEAR ONE !
The girl crept back thru the grain hopelessly. Untutored in meeting crises, she faced the situation hopelessly. Not daring to see Bart's eyes, she fled by the office door, thru which sounded voices, to her own room, where she locked herself in and fell upon her knees. Prayer came hard to her unaccustomed lips. After a while she gave it up and remained crouched in the darkness, waiting dumbly. She heard minute sounds, tiny night-noises magnified by her fear. In her agony she visioned them creeping nearer and nearer, pistol in hand. She could see, in her mind's eye, her husband and his partner below, the money spread on the table. Why did they laugh so heartily? Couldn't they hear that noise there, yonder on the gravel at the window's edge Hark !
She quivered to her feet. Shouts ! Scuffling! A chair overturned! Her fault — hers. With cold fingers she wrenched a drawer open and groped for something within. She went out on the landing and looked down.
Locked in a death-grip, her father and her husband were struggling silently below. Beyond, in the next room, the others fought, with groans and fierce words. She watched in a strange calm. Her brain worked clearly. Pitilessly she read the alternatives : her husband would know of the letter and would hate her, as she hated herself; or her father would kill him. Either way she had lost him. For an instant she hesitated. Love clamored wildly to let him die rather than live to turn from her. Then, strongly, she thrust self aside. The knife upraised in her father's hand clattered harmlessly to the floor as her pistol spoke. His hand was shattered forever. Bruised and exhausted, Bart sank to the floor, unconscious.
"Bart, Bart!" she cried, on her knees. "Come back to me — my husband— my dear one ! ' '
His eyes opened slowly and smiled into hers. Her old life — her father, with a snarl of helpless rage — crept from the room of new-found souls.
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