Abbas Arranges
"Anything, anything!" cried the Southerner, a new eagerness in his feverish voice. "Pay a ransom if you must. I will make it good."
Monsey smiled fleetingly. Good! He would have this to hold over Rand. Meanwhile he would find Edith. She would be his.
Monsey's memory dwelt hotly on the girl's delicate, friendly face, on her warm charm of manner—little tricks of personality that carried intimate fascination—and, most of all, her pride. After all, fate had been kind to him.
