“Scream as much as you like, pretty one, but no one will heed you,” he returned coolly; “Mrs. Gardner--Smith is her real name, by the way--is only the housekeeper here, and will not interfere with me. I’ll make a clean breast of the whole thing, my sweet little girlie. Mr. Gardner is abroad, and I’m in charge of his office till he returns. When you came to seek him I fell in love with your black eyes and red lips, and as soon as you owned up to the facts about yourself, I pitied your loneliness and fixed up this little plan to win your heart!” “Fiend!” cried the girl indignantly; but with that cool smile, he continued: “This house isn’t Gardner’s, either. It belongs to a rich bachelor friend of mine, now absent, who keeps up the place as a sort of private club-house for his intimates. We have jolly times here, I tell you--suppers, cards, wine, and--sometimes--pretty women, actresses and dancers, you know, but all on the strictly quiet, for if it were known of any woman that she ever set foot here she could never have any social standing afterward.” He paused, for the white horror and anguish of her lovely face showed that she took in all his brutal meaning. “Oh, Heaven!” she thought, “how careless I was to fall into this trap! To think, only to think, how I drew back from Mr. Murray’s sight but a few hours ago, when I ought to have been crying out to him to save me from this demon! May Heaven guide me now!” Her tormentor resumed calmly: “You came here with me willingly, and in so doing placed the stain upon your reputation that nothing can ever wipe out. But what does that matter, since you have no friends to miss you? I love you madly, and you are wholly in my power. I shall keep you shut up in this house until you consent to love me and be mine. That will not be long, I’m sure, for many other women have loved me, and so will you at last. You need not look so pale and alarmed. I shall attempt no harshness. I shall woo you like a lover till I win your heart. I will be patient, darling, but one kiss you must give me now to pay me for my waiting!” “Back! Do not dare to touch me!” she cried madly. But his outstretched arms clasped the shuddering form, his hot breath fanned her cheek. She struggled wildly, but she was like a reed in his strong grasp, and his lips almost touched hers, when--suddenly there rang through the room a pistol-shot! A pistol-shot--a flash of light so close that it scorched Italy’s cheek, a thread of thin blue smoke, a sharp report--then--the arms that held Italy so tight fell apart, the lips that would have pressed hers parted with a groan, the blood spurted from Craig Severn’s heart, and he fell backward--gasping, dying, _dead_! But who had fired the fatal shot? As the victim fell Italy heard one great cry of horror and despair. “Oh, God, I have killed _him_!” Her eyes flashed toward the window, for she recalled the crashing of glass mingling with the sound of the shot.