e had sent for aid in
this man's absence, and his return might frustrate her plans.
Pondering upon the best course to pursue, he descended from the
carriage, and paced the length of the block. Turning in his promenade,
his ear was greeted by a pistol shot. Could it come from that
building? It sounded from there certainly. It was now five minutes
past the time appointed; could it be there was foul play? He paused at
the foot of the stairs, irresolute.

Suddenly there was a rush of feet, and Henry came flying down, the
whites of his eyes looking as if they would never resume their natural
proportions. Clarence intercepted the man as he essayed to pass,
evidently without having seen him.

"Oh, sir!--Oh, doctor, come right up stairs, quick, sir," he
exclaimed.

"Was that shot from here, my man?" inquired Doctor Vaughan, as he
followed up the stairs.

"Yes, sir," hurrying on.

"Any people in the building besides your master and the lady?"

"No, sir; not at this time. This way, sir."

He threw open the door and stepped back. Entering the room, this is
what Clarence Vaughan saw:

Lying upon the floor in a pool of blood, the splendid form of Lucian
Davlin, one arm dripping the red life fluid, the other clasping close
the form of a beautiful girl. His eyes were closed and his face pallid
as the dead. The eyes of the girl were staring wide and set, her face
expressing unutterable fear and horror, every muscle rigid as if in a
struggle still. One hand was clenched, and thrown out as if to ward
off that death-like grasp, while the other clutched a pistol, still
warm and smelling of powder.

It was the work of a moment to stop the flow of blood, and restore the
wounded man to consciousness. But first he had removed the insensible
girl from Davlin's grasp, laid her upon a bed in the inner room and,
removing the fatal weapon from her hand, instructed Henry how to apply
the remedies a skilful surgeon has always about him, especially in the
city.

At the first sure symptoms of slowly returning life, Doctor Vaughan
summoned Henry to look after his master, whom he left, with rather
unprofessional alacrity, to attend to the fair patient in whose
welfare he felt so much interest. As he bent over the still
unconscious girl, his face was shadowed with troubled thought. She was
in no common faint, and feeling fully assured what the result would
be, he almost feared to see the first fluttering return of life.

At last a shudder