Only a voice, sweet, clear, pitiful; a child’s voice, uplifted in prayer:
“Dear God, please take care of a little girl whose Mamma has gone to Heaven—”
The rest is drowned in the shriek which bursts from Leslie’s lips; in the sudden bound made by Mamma; and the quick counter movement of Franz.
Then Leslie’s hands are beating wildly against the closet-door. Mamma, forcibly hurled back by Franz, is sprawling upon the floor, and the escaped convict is pressing against the rickety timbers.
As they yield to his onslaught, he stoops down, catches up the little crouching figure within, and turns to Leslie, who receives it with outstretched arms.
“Oh, Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!”
Sobbing wildly, she is down upon her knees, the little one tightly clasped to her bosom.
“Oh, Daisy, my darling!”
“Git out!” commands Franz, as Mamma, scrambling up, approaches with glaring eyes. “Stand back, old un. This is a new deal.”
And he places himself as a barricade before Leslie and the child, waving back the infuriated old woman with a gesture of menace.