" "Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. ” There was genuine interest in her eyes now. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. " "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. ‘What?’ ‘Nothing,’ snapped Roding, with an odd look at his bride to be that Gerald could not interpret.
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