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Rh ,—indeed, his whole existence. He breathed only for his plan, for the sure, propitious opportunity.

At last it came, and a terrible day it was. At dusk his daughter had left, closing the door, as was her habit, and had not returned at night. The old man was parched with thirst and his physical torture had doubled. He resolved upon quick action.

In the morning,—it might have been about seven o'clock—his daughter returned, or rather, rolled into the room, and with her, pell-mell came "Jane", Bernardo's "friend". Jane was roundly berating his daughter. "You rotten thing!" she cried. "I'll show you! Trying to take away somebody else's man." And the two women came to blows, rousing the entire neighborhood. They tried at last to separate the combatants, but it would have been easier to break them to bits, so fiercely did they struggle against each other. There was a whistle; the police arrived, and the women were taken to the lock-up. All this as quick as a flash.

The old man had not had time to utter a word. But an extreme rage, blind,—an anger such as only savage beasts can know, overpowered him. What! His daughter, the