But life was strong within him, and he soon recovered, but tore his cravat from his neck and unbuttoned his vest to help his breathing, which was nearly as labored as Inez’s had been. “Tell me again who she is! Tell all you know!” he said, while Tom looked inquiringly at him and at Inez, who repeated what she had said of Fanny Prescott. Tom, who was standing up, dropped into a chair as if he had been shot, while Mr. Hilton exclaimed, “Oh, Inez, Fanny is my daughter and your sister! For I am Mark Hilton—married first to Helen Tracy and divorced when our baby was a few months old, I thought she was dead. I heard so. Oh, my daughter, my daughter!” he cried in alarm at the look on Inez’s face as she listened to him. He had told everything with no thought of the effect it might have upon her. She had borne all she could bear, and with this fresh blow she lay for hours, not fainting, but dying it seemed to those who cared for her so tenderly,—the wretched father, the remorseful Tom, the kind neighbors who had been called in, and the doctor summoned from a hotel. The news of her bravery in confronting the robber had spread rapidly and the shock it must have given her was the cause assigned by the physician for the state in which he found her. There was also heart difficulty inherited from her mother, aggravated by the strain upon her nerves, he said. She was young. She might pull through, but the utmost care must be taken not to excite her in any way. All night a light shone from the window of the room where she lay with no sign of life except a feeble fluttering of the pulse and a low moan when her father spoke to her. Once when an allusion was made by some one to the adventure on the road and the belief expressed that the robbers would be captured if the whole state rose up to do it, she opened her eyes and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the foot of her bed. Her lips moved with a sound her watchers construed into “Do,” but which Tom, with his senses quickened and on the alert, knew was “Go,” and meant that he should fly before he was captured. But he was not that kind and would not have gone with Inez dying if he had known that all the police in San Francisco were on their way to take him. Just as day was breaking there was a change for the better, and the women, who had cared for Inez during the night, left with a promise of returning as soon as possible. When no one was in the room but her father Inez whispered, “I want Fanny.” “Yes, daughter,” Mark answered, feeling himself a strong desire to see her.