" CHAPTER V. After all, where prayer fails, a pistol is bound to succeed. Their poor hands!” “I know,” said Mr. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the mansion. Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight—very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. “Here is my card. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. ‘Who’s this, then? Not soldiers again. ” “You do not deny that you are my wife,” he asked hoarsely.
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