“He is not safe here for a moment. Father, we must get him away. I am afraid. There is not a threat Doctor Crang made to-night but that he is quite capable of carrying out.” “But he is safe for to-night,” Paul Veniza answered soothingly. “I got Crang home to bed, and as I told you, he is too badly bruised and knocked about to move around any before morning at least.” “And yet I am afraid,” Claire insisted anxiously. “Fortunately Mr. Bruce's wound hasn't opened, and he could be moved. Oh, if Hawkins only hadn't----” She stopped, and twisted her hands together nervously. Paul Veniza coughed, averted his head suddenly and in turning met John Bruce's eyes--and stared in a startled way. “Claire!” John Bruce called softly. “Oh!” she cried, and ran toward him. “You----” “Yes,” smiled John Bruce. “And I have been listening. Why isn't it safe for me to stay here any longer? On account of Crang's wild threats?” “Yes,” she said in a low voice. John Bruce laughed. “But you don't believe them, do you?” he asked. “At least, I mean, you don't take them literally.” Claire's lips were trembling. “There is no other way to take them.” She was making an effort to steady her voice. “It is not a question of believing them. I know only too well that he will carry them out if he can. You are not safe here, or even in New York now--but less safe here in this house than anywhere else.” John Bruce came up on his elbow. “Then, Claire, isn't this the end?” he demanded passionately. “You know him for what he is. You do not love him, for I distinctly heard you tell him that you loathed him, as I went up the stairs. Claire, I am not asking for myself now--only for you. Tell me, tell Paul Veniza here, to whom it will mean so much, that you have now no further thought of marriage with that”--John Bruce's voice choked--“with Crang.” She shook her head. “I cannot tell you that,” she said dully, “for I am going to marry Doctor Crang.” John Bruce's face hardened. He looked at Paul Veniza. The old pawnbroker had his eyes on the floor, and was ruffling his white hair helplessly with his fingers. “Why?” John Bruce asked. “Because I promised,” Claire said slowly. “But a promise like that!” John Bruce burst out. “A promise that you will regret all your life is----” “No!” Her face was half averted; her head was lowered to hide the tears that suddenly welled into her eyes. “No; it is a promise that I--that I am glad now I made.” “_Glad!_” John Bruce sat upright. She had turned her head away from the cot. He could not see her face. “Glad!” he repeated incredulously. “Yes.” Her voice was scarcely audible. For a moment John Bruce stared at her; then a bitter smile tightened his lips, and he lay back on the cot, and turned on his side away from both Claire and Paul Veniza. When John Bruce looked around again, only Paul Veniza was in the room. “I don't understand,” said Paul Veniza--he was still ruffling his hair, still with his eyes on the floor.