ll looking, fairly
interesting and amusing and got on well both with her father and
herself and because he cared for her, she had supposed she could marry
him. His assertion of his right to intimacy with her revolted her, and
his confidence that he had ability, by something he might reveal, to
take her from Eaton and bring her back within reach of himself.

Or wasn't it merely that? She twisted in his arms until she could see
his face and stared at him. His look and manner were full of purpose;
he was using terms of endearment toward her more freely than he ever
had dared to use them before; and it was not because of love for her,
it was for some purpose or through some necessity of his own that he
was asserting himself like this.

So she ceased to struggle against him, only drawing away from him as
far as she could and staring at him, prepared, before she asked her
question, to deny and reject his answer, no matter what it was.

"What have you to say about him, Donald?"

"Harry, you haven't come to really care for him; it was just madness,
dear, only a fancy, wasn't it?"

"What have you to say about him?"

"You must never think of him again, dear; you must forget him forever!"

"Why?"

"Harry--"

"Donald, I am not a child. If you have something to say which you
consider hard for me to hear, tell it to me at once."

"Very well. Perhaps that is best. Dear, either this man whom you have
known as Eaton will never be found or, if he is found, he cannot be let
to live. You understand?"

"Why? For the shooting of Cousin Wallace? He never did that! I don't
believe that; I don't think Father believes that; you'll never make any
jury believe that. So if that's all you have to tell me, let me go!"

She struggled again but Avery held her. "I was not talking about that;
that's not necessary--to bring that against him."

"Necessary?"

"No; nor is it necessary, if he is caught, even to bring him before a
jury. That's been done already, you see."

"Done already?"

Avery nodded again toward the photograph on the table. "Yes, Harry,
have you never seen a picture with the numbers printed in below like
that? Can't you guess yet where your father must have sent for that
picture? Don't you know what those numbers mean?"

"What do they mean?"

"They are the figures of his number in what is called 'The Rogue's
Gallery'; now have you heard of it?"

"Go on."

"And they mean he has committed a crime and