"Is she dead?" he asked.

Swain shook his head impatiently, without looking up.

"How is she hurt?" Godfrey persisted, bending closer above the
unconscious girl.

Swain shot him one red glance.

"She's not hurt!" he said, hoarsely. "She has fainted--that's all. Go
away."

But Godfrey did not go away. After one burning look at Swain's
lowering face, he bent again above the still figure on the couch, and
touched his fingers to the temples. What he saw or felt seemed to
reassure him, for his voice was more composed when he spoke again.

"I think you're right, Swain," he said. "But we'd better call
someone."

"Call away!" snarled Swain.

"You mean there's no one here? Surely, her father ..."

He stopped, for at the words Swain had burst into a hoarse laugh.

"Her father!" he cried. "Oh, yes; he's here! Call him! He's over
there!"

He made a wild gesture toward a high-backed easy-chair beside the