e eyes burning with the burden of the secret she carried. She
spoke first, hurriedly and low. The sound of her voice brought John to
his senses.

"Has he come? Has he come?" she asked, in a half whisper, while the
interlaced fingers over her breast writhed from the stress of her
emotion.

"Dear Miss Julia!" responded Glenning, taking her by the arm, "pray be
seated--but no, you _must_ not stay here a moment! I--what is it? What
is wrong?"

"Has he been here? Oh, tell me! Has anything happened?"

Glenning got into his coat as he answered.

"I have just come in. I went into the country after leaving you. Who is
it? Marston again?"

A sob, half hysterical, struggled from the girl's throat.

"Yes--yes! He will come! He said he would! He's determined to kill you!
Oh! I couldn't stand it!"

She put her hands over her eyes, and shivered.

"Who is with you, Miss Julia? You must not remain here another moment.
You know walls have ears and eyes, even at this hour of the night. Who
came with you?"

"No one; who could come with me? But you! You must not stay here
tonight. Perhaps he came and found you were out. He will return, Promise
me!"

Before he could answer they heard a sound which each knew; the pounding
hoofs of a horse ridden at full speed.

"It is he!" gasped Julia, her face colourless as marble. "It is too
late!"

The hard-ridden horse stopped below with a crash and a rattle of small
stones.

"Courage!" whispered John, leaning towards the girl. "Trust me; all will
be well!"

Turning the lamp low, he quickly bore it into the front office and
placed it upon his desk there in a far corner of the room. In an instant
he was by her side again and had her hand in his, and even in the peril
of that moment he felt her clinging to him, and his heart exulted. The
apartment was now in almost total darkness.

"Come!" he whispered, and opening the stair door wide he led her out
into the passage, and down it for a dozen feet. Here not a ray of light
came, but he placed her behind him, holding her hand all the while in a
close grasp. There was a heavy step below--a stumble--a muttered curse.

"He has nerved himself with whiskey!" was the low message Glenning sent
over his shoulder, "Be perfectly quiet; there is nothing to fear."

Slowly a heavy form ascended the stair, feeling its way along the wall,
and halting now and then. A head and shoulders were dimly outlined,
then the figure of Devil Marston stood in the