Activity in the hall intensified. Mere hangers on. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. He will tell you confidentially that he simply hates the place. Manning, with a baffling smile. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. "Give me the link," cried Jonathan.
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