Flung away the scabbard, and advanced with it in her hand and horrible words upon her lips.
"I swore by the Lord who made me I would murder you if you ever came again to meet that man! False wife, accursed traitoress, meet your doom!" There was a wild shriek.

In that fitful light she never doubted for a moment but that it was her husband.
"Have mercy!" she cried.

"I am innocent, Everard! Oh, for God's sake, do not murder me!" "Wretch--traitoress--die.

You are not fit to pollute the earth longer! Go to your grave with my hate and my curse!" With a sudden paroxysm of mad fury the dagger was lifted--one fierce hand gripped Harriet's throat.

A choking shriek--the dagger fell--a gurgling cry drowned in her throat--a fierce spurt of hot blood--a reel backward and a heavy fall over the low iron railing--down, down on the black shore beneath--and the pallid moonlight gleaming above shone on one figure standing on the stone terrace, alone, with a dagger dripping blood in its hand.
She leaned over the rail.