He had but one thought as he went through the rooms, and the antechamber, and hall, and out upon the cold staircase, and up to his own door, and on, and in, till he turned the key of his own room behind him.

There was no stopping then, either, between the door and the table, between key and lock, and hand and weapon.
Before the woman's kiss had been upon his lips two minutes, Bosio Macomer lay dead, alone, under the green-shaded lamp in his own remote room.
Peace upon him, if there be peace for such men, in the mercy of Almighty God.

He did evil all his life, but there was an evil which even he would not do upon the innocent life of another.

He died lest he should do it, and desperately grasping at the universal strength of death, he cast himself and his weakness into the impregnable stronghold of the grave..