<p>Christina's eyes were big with horror as she clasped her tiny hands round her knees, and stared into the fire in front of her.<br><br>She was in her father's library: a large dimly-lighted room with books lining the shelves on the walls from top to bottom. It was an afternoon in early autumn; the last rays of the setting sun were stealing in through a stained glass window and colouring the dingy writing-table with red and blue patches. It was ...