THE FINAL TRAGEDY
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which she had just emerged, and tried to open it, and found it locked. He threw his weight against it, but it would not yield.
Two men, standing at the street-corner, engaged in conversation, heard the pistol-shot, and saw the woman as she fell. They ran, and met the man as he lurched down the rectory steps. For a moment he held them at bay at the point of his revolver. Then he turned the weapon on himself and fired two shots in quick succession. He fell plunging to the earth. On his sprawling body and distorted face the light of the full moon struck. But, where Mary Bradley lay, the shadow of the spire of Christ Church rested, like the shadow of the hand of a pitying God.
