ll not remain here. Do you understand me? _I will not!_"

Lucian dragged a chair near the door, and throwing himself lazily
into it, surveyed the enraged girl with a look of mingled
astonishment, amusement, and annoyance.

"Really, this is rather hard on a fellow's patience, my lady. Not a
step nearer the door, my dear; and no more defiance, if you please.
You perceive I temper my tragedy with a little politeness," he added,
parenthetically. "I will not permit you to leave me; do you hear me?
_I will not!_"

His tone of aggressive mockery was maddening to the desperate girl. It
lent her a fresh, last impulse of wild, defiant energy. There was not
the shadow of a fear in her mind or heart now. The rush of outraged
feeling took full possession of her, and, for a second, deprived her
of all power of speech or action. In another instant she stood before
him, her eyes blazing with wrath, and in her hand, steadfast and
surely aimed, a tiny pistol--his pistol, that he had taught her to
load and aim not two short hours before!

He was not a coward, this man; and rage at being thus baffled and
placed at a disadvantage by his own weapon, drove all the mockery from
his face.

He gave a sudden bound.

There was a flash, a sharp report, and Lucian Davlin reeled for a
moment, his right arm hanging helpless and bleeding. Only for a
moment, for as the girl sprang past him, he wheeled about, seized her
with his strong left arm, and holding her close to him in a vice-like
clutch, hissed, while the ghastly paleness caused by the flowing blood
overspread his face:

"Little demon! I will kill you before I will lose you now!
You--shall--not--esca--"

A deathly faintness overcame him, and he fell heavily; still clasping
the girl, now senseless like himself.

[Illustration: "In her hand, steadfast and surely aimed, a tiny
pistol--"--page 92.]

Hearing the pistol shot, and almost simultaneously a heavy fall,
Henry hurried through the long passage and threw open the door. One
glance sufficed, and then he rushed down the stairs in frantic haste.

Meantime, Clarence Vaughan, punctual to the time appointed, had driven
rapidly to the spot designated by Madeline. He was about to alight
from the carriage, when he drew back suddenly, and sat in the shadow
as a man passed up the street.

It was Lucian Davlin, and he entered the building bearing the number
Madeline had given in her note.

Instantly Vaughan comprehended the situation. Sh