no relenting toward Wetter as a man, as companion, or as former friend. I was not remorseful about my own part in the affair, and did not now accuse myself of being responsible for the quarrel. Suddenly—and I record the feeling for what it is worth—it came upon me that I must not kill him. Why? That Englishman would laugh. I am inclined to laugh myself. Well, I was only twenty-four, and, moreover, in a state of high tension, fresh from great emotional excitement and a sleepless night. Because he was one of my people, and great among them; because he might do great things for them; because he was one of those given to me, for whom I was answerable. I can get no nearer to it—it was something of that kind. Some conception of it may be gained if I say that I have never signed a death-warrant without a struggle against a somewhat similar feeling. Whatever it was, it resulted in an inability to try to kill him. As Varvilliers' voice pronounced in clear quiet tones "Fire!" I shifted my aim gently and imperceptibly. If it were true now, the ball would pass his ear and bury itself in the wainscoting behind.
"One two three!"
I fired on the last word; I saw the smoke of Wetter's pistol; he stood motionless. In an instant I felt myself hit. I was amazed. I was hit, shot through the body, I staggered, and should have fallen; Vohrenlorf ran to me, and I sank back in his arms. My head was clear, and I saw the order of events that followed. Varvilliers also had started toward me. Suddenly he stopped. Wetter had rushed across the room toward where the cartridges lay. Varvilliers sprang upon him and caught him resolutely by the shoulders. I myself cried, "Stop
