I’ll have my bond; and therefore speak no more;
I’ll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool,
To shake the head, relent, and sigh and yield.
—Shakspere.
Nathan Gomer reached the door of the chamber of Flora Wilton, and paused.
He looked about him, up the corridor and down the corridor, and then, stooping down, he peeped through the keyhole.
He uttered an exclamation—not of joy.
He pressed the palms of his hands together and looked once more up and down the corridor, and then, gently opening Flora’s chamber door, he glided within, closed it after him, and stood for a moment and gazed upon the prostrate girl.
A tear twinkled in both eyes.
He brushed them sharply away.