"And who are you that dares to speak to me like this?
Stand aside, coward, and let me pass!" "Pardon me, but I cannot, while you hold that dagger.

Give it to me, and you shall go free; but while you hold it with this intention, for your own sake, I will detain you till some one comes." She uttered a low, fierce cry, and struck at him with it, but he caught her hand, and with sudden force snatched it from her.

In doing so he was obliged to hold it with its point toward her, and struggling for it in a sort of frenzy, as he raised the hand that held it, she slipped forward and it was driven half-way to the hilt in her side.

There was a low, grasping cry--a sudden clasping of both hands over her heart, a sway, a reel, and she fell headlong prostrate on the loathsome floor.
Sir Norman stood paralyzed.

She half raised herself on her elbow, drew the dagger from the wound, and a great jet of blood shot up and crimsoned her hands.