"But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—"to the point. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket. And if you dare to produce any kind of weapon at all,’ he added, taking a plain brass-barrelled little pistol from his own pocket and levelling it, ‘I will have no compunction in blowing off your head, you madcap female. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. “We’re in for it. Why should he stare at her in this fashion?—for all the world as if she had pointed a pistol at his head? CHAPTER III He had said it, spoken it like that … his own name! After all these weeks of trying to obliterate even the memory of it!… to have given it to this girl without her asking! The thought of peril cleared a space in the alcoholic fog.
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