“Let go!” said Ann Veronica, through her teeth, strenuously inflicting agony, and he cried out sharply and let go and receded a pace. You must—you shall be mine. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. "I've been to all the flash cases in town, and can hear nothing of him or his wives. They hissed me!” “Beasts!” he muttered.
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