His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. It is safe. I had a hard fight to begin with to win my way into the Upper Division—I was third on a list of fortyseven—and since then I have found myself promoted almost yearly in a widening sphere of social service. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. The only mercy you can show me is to kill me.
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