So wild and startling was that anguished scream that even the bride and groom sprang apart and looked toward the door in terror.

Lance saw his lost darling standing there, clinging to the arm of her father, the dark hood thrown back from her head, and her golden hair streaming over her shoulders and about her lovely face, now convulsed with pain and grief.

With a wild prescience of the truth, he rushed forward and with a ringing cry of joy caught his darling to his heart.

At the same moment the clear, full voice of the detective pealed through the large apartment thronged with wedding guests, with the suddenness of a trumpet call.

"Mrs. Vance, I arrest you for the attempted murder of Lily Lawrence, and that of Haidee and Peter Leveret!"

The detective had instantly recognized her form as that of the woman he had seen walking in the road near the Leveret house the day of the murder, and the conviction rushed upon him with the suddenness of a flash of lightning.

None who were present ever forgot the look of the guilty woman as those clarion tones fell upon her ears.

Her brain was reeling with horror, her heart beat to suffocation's verge as she beheld Lancelot clasping her rival to his heart.

When the detective's ringing voice with its dreadful accusation reached her hearing, she turned her face on him a moment, and its expression of awful horror and black despair was fearful to behold.

The next instant she threw up her arms with a wail of agony, and fell down in a writhing heap upon the floor.

The aged minister, who stood nearer to her than the rest of the guests, hastened to lift her up, though he was trembling so perceptibly he could hardly stand.

As he raised the dark head on his arm and turned her face upward to the light, a stream of blood gushed from her lips and poured its crimson rain upon the stainless whiteness of her bridal robe and veil.

"She has burst a blood vessel," said a physician in the crowd, now coming forward. "She will die."

The words reached her ears as they knelt around her trying to stanch the life tide flowing thick and fast from her lips. Her dark eyes opened and stared up into their faces with a mute despair awful to behold.

She must die! That was the only triumph that was left her out of the full cup of happiness pressed to her lips overflowingly but a moment ago! She might cheat the scaffold of its prey—that was all! Life with all its pleasures and luxuries lay before her just a moment before—now, darkness and the grave! Like one in a dream she seemed to recall words carelessly heard in the past that lay behind her forever beyond recall:

"The wages of sin is death!"

They gathered around her, the awe-stricken guests, with their pale, pale faces and gala attire, and looked at her dying before them with the awful stain of murder on her soul—that beautiful woman with the bridal wreath crowning her coronal of dark hair, and her satin robe deluged with her life-blood—such a beautiful, beautiful sinner!

Her haunting eyes roved over their faces restlessly, seeking, seeking for one face that was not there. He stood apart with Mr. Lawrence and Ada, showering caresses on the pale, almost fainting girl lying on a sofa, with her dear ones clustered round her. Mrs. Vance could not see them, but her quick intuition told her the truth, and the groan that burst from her lips brought with it a fresh torrent of life-blood.

"She wishes to see someone, I think," said the physician, interpreting her yearning look.

She gave him a glance of assent, and, with a violent effort, pronounced almost unintelligibly the name of "Lance."

Mr. Shelton, who had stood beside her, carried the message to Lancelot, but in his passionate anger against her the young man refused to go, and the detective went back without him.

"He refuses to see you," he said, with a pitying glance at her ghastly face.

The streaming blood had ceased to flow for the moment, and as the physician wiped the stains from her gasping lips, she whispered, brokenly:

"Bring Lily!"

The gaping throng parted to admit Mr. Shelton, with Lily Lawrence clinging to his arm. She knelt down, trembling, and took into her own white, innocent hand the crimson-stained one that had thrust the dagger into the gentle bosom.

Her blue eyes beamed with the soft compassion of an angel's as she looked down upon the fallen woman.

"I am here, Mrs. Vance," she said, in her sweet, flute-like voice. "I am not angry now. I forgive you everything—freely!"

But Mrs. Vance pushed away the hand that held hers as if its soft clasp hurt her.

"I do not want forgiveness," she gasped, in broken, yet defiant tones. "I want—Lance. Bring—him—to me."

Silently the young girl turned away, followed by the wondering and admiring glances of all.

She came back at last, bringing with her the reluctant one for whom the dying woman waited longingly. He bent down over her, trying to hide his horror and aversion under a mask of calmness.

The dark eyes, fast growing dim, lighted up with passion as she looked upon his face.

"I wanted—to tell you," she gasped, faintly, "that—that all my—sin—was for—love of you, Lance!"

He bowed in silence. He had no words with which to answer her passionate avowal.

"She is going very fast," said the physician, in a whisper.

Mr. Shelton bent over her.

"Do you confess your crimes?" he inquired, in a low voice.

Her eyes left Lancelot Darling's face one moment, while she gazed into that of the detective.

"You are—my—accuser?" she faltered.

"I am," he answered, briefly. "Do you confess?"

She did not answer. Her gaze had gone back to Lancelot Darling's face, searching its cold, immovable outlines longingly. The white-haired man of God bent over her gently.

"Do you confess your sins?" he inquired.

No answer. Her dying gaze was fixed on the one beloved face to the exclusion of all other earthly objects. The minister touched her arm gently.

"I pray you," he said, "do not suffer yourself to die with your unconfessed sins lying heavy on your soul."

She heard the words, and spoke faintly to her idol:

"What is it they want—of me—Lance?"

"To confess your crimes," he said, coldly. "Oh! Mrs. Vance, are you indeed guilty of all with which you are accused?"

"All, all!" she murmured, hollowly. "I tried—to kill Lily—first, you see—then when I felt safe—from detection—old Haidee learned my secret—and threatened to tell you—you, my darling! So I poisoned her and the old man both—to save myself. But, Lance—it was all for love of you!"

There was neither regret nor repentance in her tone—nothing but passionate love and despair. He did not answer, and she broke forth wailingly:

"Oh! Lance, do but say that—you—are sorry—that I must die! Say that—you might have learned to love me—poor me—if you had not learned—my fatal secret!"

Lance turned his head away that he might not see the agonized pleading of her eyes, and seeing that he could not answer her, the minister again spoke gently:

"Mrs. Vance, the time for human love is over with you now! Look rather to the Divine love that is able to pardon your sins though they be as scarlet. Do you repent?"

"Repent!" she echoed, with a wild and chilling laugh. "Repent! No, never! Were it all to do over again, and the prize the same, I would wade through seas of blood to reach my darling's heart! All for love, and—my soul—well—lost!"

With the wild, defiant words, a fresh stream of blood poured forth from her lips.

There was a gasp, a spasmodic tremor of all the features, a convulsive quiver of the limbs, and the soul of the guilty woman went wandering forth into the vast arcana of eternity!

"The wages of sin is death."