Beth Norvell

"Oh, my God! my God!--you!"

The very sound of her voice, unnatural, unhuman as it was, served to

bring him to himself.

"Yes, Beth, yes," he exclaimed hoarsely through dry lips, stepping

across the body toward her. "You need not fear me."

She drew hastily back from before him, holding forth her hands as

though pressing him away, upon her face that same look of unutterable

horror.

"You! You! Oh, my God!" she kept repeating. "See! see there!--he is

dead, dead, dead! I--I found him there; I--I found him there. Oh, my

God!--that face so white in the starlight! I--I heard the words,

and--and the shot." She pressed both hands across her eyes as though

seeking to blot it out. "I swear I heard it! I--I do not know why I

came here, but I--I found him there dead, dead! I--I was all alone in

the dark. I--I had to touch him to make sure, and--and then it was

you."

"Yes, yes," he said, realizing she was blindly endeavoring to clear

herself, yet thinking only how he might soothe her, inexpressibly

shocked by both words and manner. "I know, I understand--you found him

there in the dark, and it has terrified you."

He approached closer, holding forth his own hands, believing she would

come to him. But instead she shrank away as a child might, expecting

punishment, her arms uplifted, shielding her face.

"No, no; do not touch me; do not touch me," she moaned. "I am not

afraid of you, only I could not bear it."

"Beth!" He compelled his voice to sternness, confident now that this

hysteria could be controlled only through the exercise of his own will.

"You must listen to me, and be guided by my judgment. You must, you

shall, do as I say. This is a most terrible happening, but it is now

too late to remedy. We cannot restore life once taken. We must face

the fact and do the very best we can for the future. This man is dead.

How he died can make no difference to us now. You must go away from

here; you must go away from here at once."

"And--and leave him alone?"

The whispered words stung him, his distressed mind placing wrong

construction on the utterance.

"Has he been so much to you that now you must sacrifice yourself

needlessly for him?" he questioned quickly.

"No, not that--not that," a shudder ran through her body, "but he--he

was my husband. You forget."

"I do not forget. God knows it has been burden enough for me. But you

have no further duty here, none to him. You have to yourself and to

me."

"To--to you?"

"Yes, to me. I will put it that way, if it will only stir you to

action. I can not, will not, leave you here alone to suffer for this.

If you stay, I stay. In Heaven's name, Beth, I plead with you to go; I

beg you to be guided in this by me."