The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. Her lips were dry and cracked. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. He pressed the bloody wrist into her mouth, and she though she could not feel it or 72 control it, she knew she was being made to swallow. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage.
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