They paused and faced each other silently.
"Quick, madame!" cried Ormiston, hoarsely, his whole face flushed wildly.
His strange companion lifted her hand as if to remove the mask, and he saw that it shook like an aspen.

She made one motion as though about to lift it, and then recoiled, as if from herself, in a sort of horror.
"My God! What is this man urging me to do?
How can I ever fulfill that fatal promise ?" "Madame, you torture me!" said Ormiston, whose face showed what he felt.
"You must keep your promise; so do not drive me wild waiting.

Let me--" He took a step toward her, as if to lift the mask himself, but she held out both arms to keep him off.
"No, no, no! Come not near me, Malcolm Ormiston! Fated man, since you will rush on your doom, Look! and let the sight blast you, if it will!" She unfastened her mask, raised it, and with it the profusion of long, sweeping black hair.
Ormiston did look--in much the same way, perhaps, that Zulinka looked at the Veiled Prophet.

The next moment there was a terrible cry, and he fell headlong with a crash, as if a bullet had whined through his heart..