"Under a false pretense you first deceived me; you borrowed all the money I had that you might make me easy prey to your designs," she continued, her voice gathering fulness, and swelling with indignation.
"Worst of all, with a wickedness that devils might admire and imitate, you sought my husband's ruin, by tempting him to drink. You succeeded; but that your success fell short of your expectation he and I have this devoted friend to thank," she turned and laid her hand upon Marrion's.
"You! always you!" shrieked Frost, "you have baffled me for the last time."
There was a flash—a loud report—and Marrion Latham, clutching at his breast, sank heavily to the floor. Without waiting to note the full results of his terrible work, Willard Frost rushed out into the night.
"Oh! my God! my God! save him!" burst from Cherokee's white, groaning lips, as she raised her eyes and cried in fierce despair.
"God save you and your home, is all I ask," he gasped.
Robert, too, knelt by his side, crying: "How could the foul traitor deal such a merciless blow? Friend, brother, live to see the result of your work. You are my savior," cried Robert.
