The Mark of The Beast by Sydney Watson

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Excerpt: ... you! You saved my life!" Her long silken lashes held great quivering drops upon them. Her hair--what swathes there were of it--had become loosened, and hung about her in long, thick, wet tresses. Her cheeks were warmed to a vivid tinting by the cordial, the excitement by the deep emotion that filled her, so that, in that moment she looked very beautiful. He led her to the room he had indicated, and glancing around to see that the towels were in the place, he said, "what is your name?" "In English?" she asked. Then without waiting for him to reply, added: "Rose!" "Mine is George!" he returned. Then with a final word of: "Sleep, if you can!" he left her. When the hanging over the door-way had dropped behind him, and he was alone in his little living room, he tried to think out the many wonderful things that had happened since he had sallied forth at half-past six that morning. Taking his note-book from his breast, he tore the sheaf of short-hand notes he had already made, along the perforated line, and began to compose his message for the "Courier" in the code that had been previously arranged. It took him an hour and a half to complete the work, as writing in code, took longer than the ordinary method. By the time he had finished, it was past noon, and he wondered at the stillness of the house. Once more he made a tour of the other part of the premises, calling the names of both the man and woman of the house. They were still absent. It was very mysterious! He could not know that they were among the scores of those who had been trampled to death in the horrible darkness on the Temple mount that morning. Passing back to his room, he listened at the hanging over that inner room, where the rescued girl lay.