For a few minutes silence reigned in the room, broken only by the dying
man's laboured breathing. At length he slightly lifted his head and
looked wildly around.

"Keep back!" he cried. "Don't touch me! I didn't steal the girl! I
didn't, I say!"

"Hush, hush," Dane soothed, kneeling by his side and taking his hand in
his. "I won't let anything touch you."

But nothing could comfort the unhappy man. He fought his imaginary
foe, and pleaded to be saved.

"It's the devil that did it, I tell ye," he wailed. "Look, there's the
marks of his fingers upon Seth. Don't let him get me, for God's sake,
don't!"

Never before had Dane been in such an awkward predicament. It was hard
to listen to the raving man when he could do nothing to help him. And
all the time it was getting later, and he should be on his way to warn
the King's men. He rose to his feet, stepped to the door, and looked
out. It was blowing hard, and he knew that the storm was not far off.
He must get away before it burst.

A peculiar sound from the man on the floor caused him to hasten to his
side. In an instant he saw that all was over, and that the earthly
career of Bill Botreau was ended.

There was little now that Dane could do. He did not fancy the idea of
leaving the bodies lying there uncovered, so going outside he cut and