continued, bitterly.

"Oh, I know everything," she said. "Mr. Graham has told me all that
you mean to do. I was foolish to appeal to any one of you. You have
set out to fight my father, and your friends will use any means to
win. But I should have thought," she cried, her voice rising and
ringing like an alarm, "that they would have stopped at assassinating
his son."

I stepped back from her as though she had struck at me.

"Miss Fiske," I cried. What she had charged was so monstrous, so
absurd that I could answer nothing in defence. My brain refused to
believe that she had said it. I could not conceive that any creature
so utterly lovely could be so unseeing, so bitter, and so unfair.

Her charge was ridiculous, but my disappointment in her was so keen
that the tears came to my eyes.

I put my hat back on my head, saluted her and passed her quickly.

"Captain Macklin," she cried. "What is it? What have I said?" She
stretched out her hand toward me, but I did not stop.

"Captain Macklin!" she called after me in such a voice that I was
forced to halt and turn.

"What are you going to do?" she demanded. "Oh, yes, I see," she
exclaimed. "I see how it sounded to you. And you?" she cried. Her
voice was trembling with concern. "Because I said that, you mean to