Trembling with excitement and agitation, dazed by the suddenness of the
seeming tragedy, Myra stood rigid for a few moments, then threw aside
the pistol she had snatched from Tony and ran to Don Carlos, flinging
herself down on her knees beside him, and tearing off his cowl with
shaking hands.

"Are you badly hurt?" she cried breathlessly, horrified to see that Don
Carlos's pale face was contorted in pain and his eyes were closed.
"Where are you wounded, Don Carlos? Shall I call for Mother Dolores?"

There was no response save a low moan, Don Carlos's limbs stretched out
as if they were stiffening into the rigour of death, and his head
sagged back as Myra tried to raise it. Temporarily, Myra completely
lost her head.

"Speak to me, Don Carlos," she gasped brokenly. "Open your eyes and
look at me, darling. Oh, surely, surely you can't be going to die!
What can I do? Oh, my dear, my dear--"

Her voice failed her, she tried to cry out for help but sobs choked her
utterance. Don Carlos's eyes fluttered open for a moment then closed
again.

"Kiss me, Myra darling," he moaned faintly. "Kiss me, my sweet love."

Quivering with emotion, Myra bent down and pressed her trembling lips
to his--and immediately found herself encircled by two strong arms,
found the eyes of the "dying" man open and glowing with life and
ardour, found herself crushed in a close embrace, and being kissed, and
kissed, and kissed.