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Alas!
Prometheus was tied to the rock not more firmly than she to that bed
of anguish!
The struggle went on. The inventor, though past the prime of life, and
worn down by excessive thought, had some strength left. Its duration was
brief; but it was not to be despised while it lasted. He grasped the
tall figure of Marcus Wilkeson by the neck with one arm, and with the
other struck dozens of blows upon his face and chest. The comparative
youth and freshness of Marcus were unable to free him from the strong
hold of this vigorous old man. Pangs of terror shot through the heart of
the poor girl as she saw that her father was about to become a murderer.
Then the tide of fortune changed. Marcus, bruised and black in the face,
and panting with exertion, released himself from the inventor's clutch,
and, in turn, caught him by the throat. With his long arm he held the
furious old man at a safe distance. The unhappy girl was now agonized
with fears for her father's life.
"This is madness. Let us stop it." Thus Pet heard Marcus Wilkeson say,
in panting accents.


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