She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. But she must stop him getting away. " "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. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. ’ Gerald controlled a quivering lip. Not up here, I think. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan.
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