the door, flattened itself against the fireplace, and fell tinkling
into the grate.

"I hope I hit you!" roared the Jew.

Ford pressed his lips tightly together. Whatever happy retort may
have risen to them was forever lost. For an exchange of repartee,
the moment did not seem propitious.

"Perhaps now," jeered Prothero, "you'll believe I'm in earnest!"

Ford still resisted any temptation to reply. He grinned
apologetically at the girl and shrugged his shoulders. Her face was
white, but it was white from excitement, not from fear.

"What did I tell you?" she whispered. "He IS mad--quite mad!"

Ford glanced at the bullet-hole in the panel of the door. It was on
a line with his heart. He looked at Miss Dale; her shoulder was on
a level with his own, and her eyes were following his.

"In case he does that again," said Ford, "we would be more
comfortable sitting down."

With their shoulders against the wall, the two young people sank to
the floor. The position seemed to appeal to them as humorous, and,
when their eyes met, they smiled.

"To a spectator," whispered Ford encouragingly, "we MIGHT appear to
be getting the worst of this. But, as a matter of fact, every