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“Will you climb down the cliff or shall I throw you?”

“Let us all go,” said the bride, and she caught at his trembling arm, “and I will bless you, and wish you all good things–and kiss you good-by.”

“If you go,” said Farallone, and his great voice trembled, “I die. You are everything. You know that. Would I have hit you if I hadn’t loved you so–poor little cheek!” His voice became a kind of mumble.

“Let us go,” said the bride, “if you love me.”

“Not you,” said Farallone, “while I live. I would not be such a fool. Don’t you know that in a little while you’ll be glad?”

“Is that your final word?” said the bride.

“It must be,” said Farallone. “Are you not a gift to me from God?”

“I think you must be mad,” said the bride.

“I am unalterable,” said Farallone, “as God made me–I am. And you are mine to take.”

“Do you remember,” said the bride, “what you said when you gave me the revolver? You said that if ever I thought it best to shoot you–you would let me do it.”

“I remember,” said Farallone, and he smiled.

“That was just talk, of course?” said the bride.

“It was not,” said Farallone; “shoot me.”

“Let us go,” said the bride. Her voice faltered.

“Not you,” said Farallone, “while I live.”

His voice, low and gentle, had in it a kind of far-off sadness. He turned his eyes from the bride and looked the rising sun in the face. He turned back to her and smiled.

“You haven’t the heart to shoot me,” he said. “My darling.”

“Let us go.”

“Let–you–go!” He laughed. “Send–away–my–mate!”

His eyes clouded and became vacant. He blinked them rapidly and raised his hand to his brow. It seemed to me that in that instant, suddenly come and suddenly gone, I perceived a look of insanity in his face. The bride, too, perhaps, saw something of the kind, for like a flash she had the revolver out and cocked it.

“Splendid,” cried Farallone, and his eyes blazed with a tremendous love and admiration. “This is something like,” he cried. “Two forces face to face–a man and a bullet–love behind them both. Ah, you do love me–don’t you?”

“Let us go,” said the bride. Her voice shook violently.

“Not you,” said Farallone, “while I live.”

He took a step toward her, his eyes dancing and smiling. “Do you know,” he said, “I don’t know if you’ll do it or not. By my soul, I don’t know. This is living, this is. This is gambling. I’ll do nothing violent,” he said, “until my hands are touching you. I’ll move toward you slowly one slow step at a time–with my arms open–like this–you’ll have plenty of chance to shoot me–we’ll see if you’ll do it.”

“We shall see,” said the bride.

They faced each other motionless. Then Farallone, his eyes glorious with excitement and passion, his arms open, moved toward her one slow, deliberate step.

“Wait,” he cried suddenly. “This is too good for them.” He jerked his thumb toward the groom and me. “This is a sight for gods–not jackasses. Go down to the river,” he said to us. “If you hear a shot come back. If you hear a scream–then as you value your miserable hides–get!”

We did not move.

The bride, her voice tense and high-pitched, turned to us.

“Do as you’re told,” she cried, “or I shall ask this man to throw you over the cliff.” She stamped her foot.

“And this man,” said Farallone, “will do as he’s told.”

There was nothing for it. We left them alone in the meadow and descended the cliff to the river. And there we stood for what seemed the ages of ages, listening and trembling.

A faint, far-off detonation, followed swiftly by louder and fainter echoes, broke suddenly upon the rushing noises of the river. We commenced feverishly to scramble back up the cliff. Half-way to the top we heard another shot, a second later a third, and after a longer interval, as if to put a quietus upon some final show of life–a fourth.

A nebulous drift of smoke hung above the meadow.

Farallone lay upon his face at the bride’s feet. The groom sprang to her side and threw a trembling arm about her.

“Come away,” he cried, “come away.”

But the bride freed herself gently from his encircling arm, and her eyes still bent upon Farallone—-

“Not till I have buried my dead,” she said.