“Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.
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