One glance into the mad girl's face satisfied him of the mournful
truth. The falling log had done fatal work, and with his hand clasping
hers, Dyke Darrel watched the gasps that grew fainter each moment,
until the silence and quietude of eternity rested on all.
"Dead!"
With that one word Dyke Darrel started to his feet and gazed about
him. There was a flinty gleam in his keen eyes and a fierce grating of
white teeth.
It had been a long time since the railroad detective was moved as at
that hour, with the work of human fiends before him.
From the burning cabin his gaze returned to the upturned white
face of the dead girl. Pure and lovely as a lily looked the face of
the wronged and dead.
"It is better so, perhaps," muttered the detective.
Had the girl lived she might never have enjoyed an hour of reason.
With that dethroned, what could death be but a welcome messenger. And
yet the manner of the mad girl's taking off was shocking in the
extreme.
Had Dyke Darrel known the way out, he would have taken the corpse in
his arms and hurried from the scene at once. As it was, the detective
deemed it wise to remain in the vicinity until morning, when it was
likely he would have little trouble in making his way out of the
woods!
The remaining hours of the night passed slowly.
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