but the exquisite emeralds. He picked up one—still warm with Kitty's pulsing life—and toyed with it. Actually, the drums! And all this time they had been inviting the first comer to appropriate them. Money, love, tragedy, death; history, pageants, lovely women; murder and loot! All these days on the step of the fire-escape ladder! He must have one of them; positively he must. Could he prevail upon Hawksley to sell one? Had he carried them through sentiment?
He turned to broach the suggestion of purchase, but remained mute.
Hawksley's head was sunk upon his chest; his arms hung limply at the sides of his chair.
"He is fainting!" cried Kitty, her love outweighing her resolves. "Cutty!"—desperately, fearing to touch Hawksley herself.
"No! The stones, the stones! Take them away—out of sight! I'm too done in! I can't stand it! I can't The Red Night! Torches and hob-nailed boots!"
