"Hurt, Dartmoor?" I asked.
"My back," he whispered. "He has broken my back. I cannot move and
there is no sensation below the waist. Where is he now?"
"Lying down over yonder," I answered. "What can I do?"
"Nothing. Protect Ella from him."
"I will. I'll murder him if need be."
"You will not need," he went on in that weakening whisper. "I did too
well. He had only my soul to inspire his impulses, without my governing
mind. He took my love for Ella only as his mind could interpret it, as
mere impulse. He took my anger and vented it upon me. He will die with
me. It is but the passing of one soul."
Dartmoor was right. He breathed his last in a minute, and I went over
to the beast. He, too, lay quiet and still.