“No!” The father’s voice came quietly, but his eyes never left the figure that lay motionless on the floor.
“What!” John cried out in amazement.
“You must!” Paul Crossett put his hand out and shook the old man almost roughly. “You must! She is your daughter!”
“She is not my daughter. My daughter died ten months ago. My daughter’s soul is with her mother’s, as pure and as white as on the day I first held her in my arms. I owe no duty to this creature here. This empty shell from which the soul has been driven out. I am not her father, but if I were, I still would say—in God’s name—let her die!”
He had taken a heavy mallet in his hand, and as he spoke he brought it down with all his strength upon the delicate mechanism in front of him. He struck twice, and there was nothing left but a mass of broken glass and a heap of bent and twisted wires.
THE END
GROSSET & DUNLAP’S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.