THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
behind her—a compelling pride in the observance of her father's laws of conduct—made it impossible for her to turn. What if he should learn some day that she had run away in a crisis? So she went on, the bravest of the brave.
In her travels she had learned how to use firearms—another injunction which had been laid down by that imperialistic parent of hers. She could shoot passably, but always in horror if at some living target.
She decided to move in the dark, not to turn on the light of the torch until the very last moment.
The storeroom door was open. There was a wide circle of light on the ceiling. A shadow rather than a human being crouched before the wall. She saw a black square hole. A safe in the wall! Here was a thief, taking something that doubtless belonged to Mr. Armitage. For her own sake she was a bit of a coward, but for the sake of some one she liked she was as brave as a lion. Click! went the key on her torch.
"Stand up!"
The burglar, a cap drawn over his eyes and a dark handkerchief hiding the lower
102
