With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. “No! My father. Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. “I never dreamt!” she said. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books.
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