Such deeds and these words were incompatible in the same
individual. There could be but one explanation--Byrne must
be two men, with as totally different characters as though they
had possessed separate bodies. And who may say that her
hypothesis was not correct--at least it seemed that Billy Byrne
was undergoing a metamorphosis, and at the instant there was
still a question as to which personality should eventually
dominate.
Byrne turned away from the reproach which replaced the
horror in the girl's eyes, and with a tired sigh let his head fall
upon his outstretched arm. The girl watched him for a moment,
a puzzled expression upon her face, and then returned
to work above Theriere.
The Frenchman's respiration was scarcely appreciable, yet
after a time he opened his eyes and looked up wearily. At
sight of the girl he smiled wanly, and tried to speak, but a fit
of coughing flecked his lips with bloody foam, and again he
closed his eyes. Fainter and fainter came his breathing, until it
was with difficulty that the girl detected any movement of his
breast whatever. She thought that he was dying, and she was
afraid. Wistfully she looked toward the mucker. The man still
lay with his head buried in his arm, but whether he were
wrapped in thought, in slumber, or in death the girl could not
tell.
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