After he was gone in the morning, Ruth would steal into the study and hurriedly read what he had written the previous night. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. He had scarcely completed his toilet, when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name pronounced in no friendly accents. The poison from the teeth radiated from her shoulder and paralyzed her limbs. This means of communication instantly brought them to the lobby. She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely.
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