tion.” And she kissed her, and smoothed the hair over her temples.
“Yes, this way,” was heard the janitor’s voice behind the door. Some one entered. . . . Lucy’s blood curdled in her veins,—her father! . . . He looked around,—joy sparkled in his dim eyes,—they rested upon Lucy. Then he bowed to the aunt:
“Pardon me, lady. A sacred right brings me here, a father’s right to his daughter!” and he pointed theatrically at Lucy. “Yes, my child. . . .”
Just then the door slammed behind him, and Jiří, with burning face, flew into the room. The two women breathed sighs of relief.
“You wished?” Jiří asked him with a trembling voice, as he recognized him.
“I am the father of this girl, and you, sir, are that bold man who have dared to snatch her out of my care. . . .”
“Care?” Jiří cried in rage.
