The sensitive soul of the girl had seen the tragedy before she rushed into the library. At the first shot she sprang to her feet, her heart in her throat. The report had sounded queerly through the closed doors and she was not sure. She had entered the hall, holding her breath, when the second shot rang out its message of death.

She was not the woman who faints in an emergency. She paused just a moment in the door, saw the ghastly heap on the floor and rushed to the spot.

She tore Tom\'s collar open and placed her ear over his heart:

"O God! He\'s alive—he\'s alive!"

She turned and saw Cleo leaning against the table with blanched face and chattering teeth.

"Call Andy and Aunt Minerva—and go for the doctor—his heart\'s beating—quick—the doctor—he\'s alive—we may save him!"

She knelt again on the floor, took Tom\'s head in her lap, wiped the blood from the clean, white forehead, pressed her lips to his and sobbed:

"Come back, my own—it\'s I—Helen, your little wife—I\'m calling you—you can\'t die—you\'re too young and life\'s too dear. We\'ve only begun to live, my sweetheart! You shall not die!"............