“Then you will lose your bet!”
Rolf heard the words, but he had no time to turn and meet Frank, who was right upon him.
In a moment, Frank had torn the girl from Harlow’s arms, and planted a hammer-like blow under the fellow’s ear.
Merry’s knuckles cracked on the neck of the young ruffian, and Harlow went down as if he had been struck by a club.
With the girl on his arm, his fist clinched, Frank stood over Rolf, ready to give him another if he tried to get up.
But Harlow lay gasping and quivering on the ground, knocked out for the moment.
The girl, who was almost swooning, slipped her soft arm about Frank’s neck, and then, to his astonishment, he heard her whisper:
“Frank! Frank! is it you—can it be?”
Then he looked at her, and, to his unbounded astonishment and joy, he saw resting against his shoulder the sweet, flower-like face of Elsie Bellwood.
Was he dreaming? For a moment it seemed that he must be. He doubted the evidence of his eyes.