aid the man.

Instantly she turned again to the mantel and picked up a
magazine-revolver. She leveled it at him.

"Leave this room, or I will shoot."

Courtlandt advanced toward her slowly. "Do so," he said. "I should much
prefer a bullet to that look."

"I am in earnest." She was very white, but her hand was steady.

He continued to advance. There followed a crash. The smell of burning
powder filled the room. The Burmese gong clanged shrilly and whirled
wildly. Courtlandt felt his hair stir in terror.

"You must hate me indeed," he said quietly, as the sense of terror died
away. He folded his arms. "Try again; there ought to be half a dozen
bullets left. No? Then, good-by!" He left the apartment without another
word or look, and as the door closed behind him there was a kind of
finality in the clicking of the latch.

The revolver clattered to the floor, and the woman who had fired it leaned
heavily against the mantel, covering her eyes.

"Nora, Nora!" cried a startled voice from a bedroom adjoining. "What has
happened? _Mon Dieu_, what is it?" A pretty, sleepy-eyed young woman, in a
night-dress, rushed into the room. She flung her arms about the singer.
"Nora, my dear, my dear!"

"He forced his way in. I thought to frighten him. It went off
accidentally. Oh, Celeste, Celeste, I might have killed him!"

The other drew her head down on her shoulder, and listened. She could hear
voices in the lower hall, a shout of warning, a patter of steps; then the
hall door slammed. After that, silence, save for the faint mellowing
vibrations of the Burmese gong.

CHAPTER V

CAPTIVE OR RUNAWAY

At the age of twenty-six Donald Abbott had become a prosperous and
distinguished painter in water-colors. His work was individual, and at the
same time it was delicate and charming. One saw his Italian landscapes as
through a filmy gauze: the almond blossoms of Sicily, the rose-laden walls
of Florence, the vineyards of Chianti, the poppy-glowing Campagna out of
Rome. His Italian lakes had brought him fame. He knew very little of the
grind and hunger that attended the careers of his whilom associates. His
father had left him some valuable patents--wash-tubs, carpet-cleaners, and
other labor-saving devices--and the royalties from these were quite
sufficient to keep him pleasantly housed. When he referred to his father
(of whom he had been very fond) it was as an inventor. Of what, he rarely
told. In America it was all righ