rain herself no longer. The heartlessness of
her sister-in-law overcame her prudence, and she interrupted the
scornful mistress of the house, her eyes blazing, but her voice under
perfect control. Her tall young figure was tense, and her fingers
clasped the back of Miss Folsom's chair rather rigidly.

"I suppose you know what happened this morning," she said, with such
apparent restraint that every one looked at her expectantly.

"Do you mean in connection with Mr.--with Jack-the-Giant-Killer?"
asked her ladyship, her eyes brightening.

"Some one of your servants shot him this morning," said Penelope with
great distinctness. There was breathless silence in the room.

"Shot him?" gasped Lord Bazelhurst, his thin red face going very
white.

"Not--not fatally?" exclaimed Evelyn, aghast in spite of herself.

"No. The instructions were carried out. His wound in the arm is
trifling. But the coward was not so generous when it came to the life
of his innocent, harmless dog. He killed the poor thing. Evelyn,
it's--it's like murder."

"Oh," cried her ladyship, relieved. "He killed the dog. I daresay
Mr. Shaw has come to realize at last that we are earnest in this. Of
course I am glad that the man is not badly hurt. Still, a few shot in
the arm will hardly keep him in bounds. His legs were intended," she
laughed lightly. "What miserable aim Tompkins must take."

"He's a bit off in his physiology, my dear," said Cecil, with a
nervous attempt at humor. He did not like the expression in his
sister's face. Somehow, he was ashamed.

"Oh, it's bad enough," said Penelope. "It was his left arm--the upper
arm, too. I think the aim was rather good."

"Pray, how do you know all of this, Penelope?" asked her ladyship,
lifting her eyebrows. "I've heard that you see Mr. Shaw occasionally,
but you can't be his physician, I'm sure."

Penelope flushed to the roots of her hair, but suppressed the retort
which would have been in keeping with the provocation.

"Oh, dear, no!" she replied. "I'm too soft-hearted to be a physician.
I saw Mr. Shaw just after the--ah--the incident."

"You shaw Saw--I mean you saw Shaw?" gasped Bazelhurst.

"She sees him frequently, Cecil. It was not at all unusual that she
should have seen him to-day. I daresay he waited to show you his wound
before going to a surgeon."

Penelope could not resist the temptation to invent a story befitting
the moment. Assuming a look of concern, she turned to her brother