"I remember it," nodded Monte. "It's been like that--like dying and coming back and trying to make people hear, and not being able to. I made an ass of myself until I met her. I know that. I'm not fit to be in the same room with her. I know that you can say nothing too bad about me--up to the day I met her. I would n't care what people said up to that day--if they'd only believe the rest; if she'd only believe the rest. I think I could stand it even if I knew she--she did not care for me--if only I could make her understand how much she means to me." Monte looked puzzled. "Just what does she mean to you?" he asked. "All that's left in life," answered Hamilton. "All that's left to work for, to live for, to hope for. It's been like that ever since I saw her on the boat. I was coming over here to go the old rounds, and then--everything was changed. There was no place to go, after that, except where she went. I counted the hours at night to the time when the sun came up and I could see her again. I did n't begin to live until then; the rest of the time I was only waiting to live. Every time she came in sight it--it was as if I were resurrected, Covington; as if in the mean while I'd been dead. I thought at first I had a chance, and I planned to come back home with her to do things. I wanted to do big things for her. I thought I had a chance all the while, until she came here--until this morning. Then, when she only smiled--well, I lost my head." "What was the idea back of the gun?" asked Monte. Hamilton answered without bravado. "I meant to end it for both of us; but I lost my nerve." "Good Lord! You would have gone as far as that?" "Yes," answered Hamilton wearily. "But I'm glad I fell down." Monte passed his hand over his forehead. He could not fully grasp the meaning of a passion that led a man to such lengths as this. Why, the man had proposed murder--murder and suicide; and all because of this strange love of a woman. He had been driven stark raving mad because of it. He sat there now before him, an odd combination of craven weakness and giant strength because of it. In the face of such a revelation, Covington felt petty; he felt negative. Less than ten minutes ago he himself had looked into the same eyes that had so stirred this man. He had seen nothing there particularly to disturb any one. They were very beautiful eyes, and the woman back of