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"You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. ” He panted. . And with a hideous expression of pain, he fainted.
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