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one discovering her regarding thus
raptly the object of her interest She
seized the tennis racket she carried
in one hand more closely and was
about to fly when her face grew
deadly pale. She uttered a quick
gasp. Then, with an inarticulate cry,
she sprang clear of her ambush.
A form had become vaguely out
lined in the opposite bush. A hand
was thrust forward. It held a leveled
revolver and it was pointed directly
at the sleeping man in the hammock.
For an instant only Lura caught
sight of a dark, sinister face behind
the weapon. She braved all.
Crack! A quick, terrifying report
rang out, but not before Lura had
reached the side of the hammock.
She was on her knees then, her arms
about the sleeper, shielding him. She
felt a stinging contact on one cheek.
Then whirling about, she prepared to
scream for help, when she noted that
the affrighted would-be assassin was
speeding for his life away from the
spot.
Lura was reeling with the reaction
from the great strain of excitement
She almost collapsed. Springing to
his feet, Clyde Rawson seized her
swaying form.
"Miss Denison Lura!" he cried in
coherently,, "what has happened? I
was asleep. I fancied I heard an ex-
plosion "
"Yes," faltered Lura, withdrawing
from his clasp. "Oh, Mr. Rawson!
you must go away from here. Some
one just now tried to kill you. A
dark-faced, tall man with a head of
crisp curly hair. He fired at you. I
I got in front of you. The bullet must
have struck the hard wooded tennis
racket It rebounded to my cheek "
"You risked your life for me!"
voiced Clyde, his tones trembling
with vivid emotion. "Poor, dear
cheek! It is marred! You might
have been killed for me! Oh, my
friend, my more than friend!"
He has clasped her in his arms
with a fervor that made her helpless.
Gently, reverently his lips swept the ,
1 abrased cheek. Then he held her at
arms length, his eyes met her own
fairly scintillating with the overpow
ering emotions that filled his grateful,
loyal soul.
"Listen to me, Miss Denison
Lura," he spoke, " you have described
a man whom I know. For only one
reason would he seek my life. The
existence of that reason I must at
once explore. Please let me see you
safely to the hotel."
In a moment he was the calm,
courteous gentleman he ever pre
sented. He spoke no other word. He
only lifted his hat politily as they
reached the hotel. Half an hour later,
in her room Lura was handed a large
envelope, sealed. A note accompani
ed it and it read:
"I am handing you my will. If any
thing happens to me, and I really
have anything, it is left to you to
baffle an evil genius who seeks my
death. I expect to return tomorrow.
I must see you then, at all hazards."
What strange circumstance was
this! Lura was fluttering, amazed,
mystified. When she went from her
room again she wore a tiny patch of
adhesive plaster over the spot on her
cheek. The bullet had barely grazed
it, but had left a visible abrasion on
the skin. Her friends railed her as
to her "beauty spot," but Lura made
no explanation.
Her fair cheek tingled whenever
she thought of Clyde Rawson, with
joy and pride because she had saved
his life, with longing hope because
the memory of that kiss at least pre
saged heartfelt gratitude and devo
tion. She was in the garden of the hotel
that next evening, wondering when
Clyde would return, wondering, too,
if he would return at all, when a
form came hurrying towards the gar
den bench where she was resting.
It was Clyde Rawson, bright, brisk,
eager, light spirited. He sat down be
side her. He caught both her hands
and looked her in the eyes. His
friendly frankness disarmed her, ShQ
;.
