Chapter 23

THE FATAL SHOT

"Thank God, Una," Jack cried, "you remember it now even better than
I do!"

"Remember it!" I answered, holding my brow with my hands to keep the
flood of thought from bursting it to fragments. "Remember it! Why,
it comes back to me like waves of fire and burns me. I remember
every word, every act, every gesture. I lifted my head slowly, Jack,
and looked over the screen at him. In the twilight, I saw him
there--the man I called my father--holding the bottle to your face,
that wicked bottle of chloroform, with his revolver in one hand, and
a calm smile like a fiend's playing hatefully and cruelly round that
grave-looking mouth of his. I never saw any man look so ghastly in
my life. I was rooted to the spot with awe and terror. I dared
hardly cry out or move. Yet I knew this was murder. He would kill
you! He would kill you! He was trying to poison you before my very
eyes. Oh, heaven, how I hated him! He was no father of mine. He had
never been my father. And he was murdering the man I loved best in
the world. For I loved you better than life, Jack! Oh, the strain of
it was terrible! I see it all now. I live it all over again. With
one wild bound I leapt forward, and, hardly knowing what I did, I
pressed the button, turned off the current from the battery, and
rushed wildly upon him. I suppose the knob I pressed not only
released you, but set the photographic machine at work automatically.
But I didn't know it then. At any rate, I remember now, in the
seconds that followed, flash came fast after flash. There was a
sudden illumination. The room was lighter than day. It grew alternately
bright as noon and then dark as pitch again by contrast. And by the
light of the flashes, I saw you, half-dazed with the chloroform,
standing helpless there.

"I rushed up and caught the man's arm. He was never my father! He
dropped the bottle and struggled hard for possession of the pistol.
First he pointed it at you, then at me, then at you again. He meant
to shoot you. I was afraid it would go off. With a terrible effort I
twisted his wrist awry, in the mad force of passion, and wrenched
the revolver away from him. He jumped at my throat, still silent,
but fierce like a tiger at bay. I eluded him, and sprang back. Then
I remember no more, except that I stood with the pistol pointed at
him. Next, came a flash, a loud roar. And then, in a moment, the
Picture. He lay dead on the floor in his blood. And my Second State
began. And from that day, for months, I was like a little child
again."

Jack looked at me as I paused.

"And then?" he went on in a very low voice, half prompting me.

"And then all I can