Well, I don't blame you on that ground. " "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. He raised her to a sitting position. Alas! that the punishment of his offences should fall on her head. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. That place was closed by the police last month. Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there.
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