For a few steps he followed the trail, then turned back to the body. In the pocket he found his brother’s revolver. So Haynes had been struck down without warning! For the moment, shock had driven from Colton’s mind the thought of Helga. Now he rose to fend her from the sight of this horror, and saw her moving swiftly around the point.
“Go back!” he cried. “You must not come nearer!”
With no more heed of him than if he were a rock in her path, the girl made a half-circle of avoidance, and sinking upon the sand gazed into the dead man’s face. The eyes were closed, and from the calm features all the expression of harshness had fled. Gone were the lines of pain; the dead face wore for Helga the same sweetness and gentleness that, living, Haynes had kept for her alone, and the lips seemed to smile to her as she lifted the head to her lap and smoothed back the hair from the forehead.
“He is dead?” she asked dully, looking up at Everard.
“Yes,” said the young man.
“I warned him,” she whispered. “I saw it so plainly—death flying across the sands to strike him. Oh, Petit Père, why didn’t you heed me? Couldn’t you trust the loving heart of your little princess?”
In that moment Everard Colton forgot his hopes. A great surge of pity and grief for the girl rose within him. It came to him that she had loved the better man, the man who lay dead on the sands, and as the first pang of that passed there was left in him only the sense of service. Throwing his coat across Haynes’ body, he bent over Helga.
“My dear,” he said, “my dear.”
That was all; but her woman’s swift intuition recognised the new feeling and responded to it. She groped for his hand and clung to it.
“Don’t leave us!” she said pitifully.