Her Faithful Knight — page 345: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

And Last. 341 moment when his resistance seemed to be giving way under Sholto’s savage force, by a sudden movement with his leg he tripped up his enemy and the pair fell heavily, wrestling still, to the ground. Darcy was uppermost, and by a sharp struggle he wrenched himself free. He tried to spring to a standing position, but Sholto gripped his feet, and brought him to his knees. Kneeling thus, Darcy hurled himself upon the other man with all his force, and strove to pin him to the ground with one hand, while with the other, which shook a little by this time from excitement and fatigue, he pointed the revolver full at Sholto’s head. Before he could discharge it his hand was sharply knocked up, diverting his aim at the moment that the pistol clicked, and he fell backward without a cry. The shot had entered his brain, and Darcy Derrick’s days of evil-doing were ended. Slowly, and shaking a little, for to take a life is not an every-day occurrence, even to a reckless man, Sholto scrambled to his feet. He did not need to examine Darcy’s body. He knew the man was dead, and for that he had no regret whatever, but he did not care to look upon the sorry sight at his feet. “He was a villain,” he said, half aloud, as though exon- erating himself to some one who accused him. “And he killed my sister Phyllis—poor, pretty little Phyllis! It’s a good thing that he’s out of the world. Dorothy’s freed from him, at any rate. Now she can. marry the pretty girl’s cousin and have a bit of happiness. So I haven’t come over for nothing. “T did it in self-defense, but unfortunately for me they have a nasty way of calling that sort of thing murder in these infernal civilized countries. As it is, he’s been writ- ing a lot of maudlin poetry and nonsense about dying, GOMIGIOO S (C@ im