"Then take that, and that."
A rain of swift blows; a shriek ringing out on the stillness of the night; then a swift step, the door dashed in, and John Burrill is measuring his length upon the bare floor.
The woman reels, as the clutch of the miscreant loosens from her arm, but recovers herself and turns a bruised face toward the timely intruder. It is Clifford Heath.
"Are you badly hurt?" he asks, anxiously.
She lifts a hand to her poor bruised face, and aching head, and then sinking into a chair says, wearily:
"It's nothing—for me. Look out, sir!"
This last was an exclamation of warning, John Burrill had staggered to his feet, and was aiming an unsteady blow at the averted head of Doctor Heath.
The latter turned swiftly, comprehending the situation at a glance, and once more felled
