“What can one say?” she exclaimed. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. And yet the secondary emotion was one of suspicion. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. He said nothing, even though it was not raining. "Would I had never seen either of you!" cried Jack, rising and pacing the apartment with a hurried step.
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