The lean brown fingers of the Italian woman had her by the throat--held her as the claws of a tigress might have held her.

Her eyes rolled in the mute agony of an appeal for help.

In vain! in vain! Not a cry, not a sound, had drawn attention to the attack.

Her husband's eyes were fixed, horror-struck, on the victim of her rage.

Benjulia had crossed the room to the sofa, when Carmina heard the words spoken of her mother.