She seemed to be oblivious to everything near at hand.

She made a pathetic figure drooping there, with her sunny hair contrasting so markedly with her white, wasted cheeks and her hands listlessly clasped and her little bare feet propped in the framework of the rude seat.

Venters could have sworn and laughed in one breath at the idea of the connection between this girl and Oldring's Masked Rider.

She was the victim of more than accident of fate--a victim to some deep plot the mystery of which burned him.

As he stepped forward with a half-formed thought that she was absorbed in watching for his return, she turned her head and saw him.