with wrath, and in her hand, steadfast and surely aimed, a tiny pistol—his pistol, that he had taught her to load and aim not two short hours before!
He was not a coward, this man; and rage at being thus baffled and placed at a disadvantage by his own weapon, drove all the mockery from his face.
He gave a sudden bound.
There was a flash, a sharp report, and Lucian Davlin reeled for a moment, his right arm hanging helpless and bleeding. Only for a moment, for as the girl sprang past him, he wheeled about, seized her with his strong left arm, and holding her close to him in a vice-like clutch, hissed, while the ghastly paleness caused by the flowing blood overspread his face:
"Little demon! I will kill you before I will lose you now! You—shall—not—esca—"
A deathly faintness overcame him, and he fell heavily; still clasping the girl, now senseless like himself.
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