It was a woman's voice, and with a snarl like that of a tortured animal the old man struck down Nathaniel's arm and clawed his way back to the edge of the line.

On the opposite side there was a surging in the crowd and as MacDougall raised his whip a woman burst through.
"My God!" cried Nathaniel, "it's--" He left the rest of the words unspoken.

His veins leaped with fire.

A single sweep of his powerful arms and he had forced himself through the innermost line of spectators.

Within a dozen feet of him stood Strang's wife, her beautiful hair disheveled, her face deadly white, her bosom heaving as if she had been running.