turned faint at the recital, and her lovely head
sank on his shoulder. He kissed her, and tried
to comfort her, and said he would not tell her
any more. But she said somewhat characteristically,
"I insist on your telling me all; all.
It will kill me." Which did not seem to Alfred
a cogent reason for continuing his narrative. He
varied it by telling her that through all his
misery the thought of her had sustained him.

A rough voice was heard in the passage inquiring
for Mr. Hardie. Alfred started up in
dismay: for it was Rooke's voice. "I am undone,"
he cried. "They are coming to take me
again; and, if they do, they will drug me; I am
a dead man."

"Fly!" cried Julia; "fly! up-stairs; the
leads."

He darted to the door, and out on the landing.

It was too late. Rooke had just turned the
corner of the stairs; and saw him. He whistled
and rushed after Alfred. Alfred bounded up the
next flight of stairs: but, even as he went, his
fighting blood got up; he remembered his pistol:
he drew it, turned on the upper landing, and
levelled the weapon full at Rooke's forehead.
The man recoiled with a yell, and got to a respectful
distance on the second landing. There
he began to parley. "Come, Mr. Hardie, sir,"
said he, "that is past a joke: would you murder
a man?"

"It's no murder to kill an assassin in defence
of life or liberty: and I'll kill you, Rooke, as I
would kill a wasp, if you lay a finger on me."

"Do you hear that?" shouted Rooke to some
one below.

"Ay, I hear," replied the voice of Hayes.

"Then loose him. And run in after him."

There was a terrible silence; then a scratching
was heard below: and, above, the deadly click of
the pistol-hammers brought to full cock.

And then there was a heavy pattering rush,
and Vulcan came charging up the stairs like a
lion. He was half-muzzled; but that Alfred did
not know: he stepped forward and fired at the
tremendous brute somewhat unsteadily; and
missed him, by an inch; the bullet glanced off
the stairs and entered the wall within a yard of
Rooke's head; ere Alfred could fire again, the
huge brute leaped on him, and knocked him down
like a child, and made a grab at his throat;
Alfred, with admirable presence of mind, seized
a banister, and, drawing himself up, put the
pistol to Vulcan's ear, and fired the other barrel
just as Rooke rushed up the stairs to secure
his prisoner: the dog bounded into the air
and fell over dead with shattered skull, leaving
Alfred bespattered with blood and brains, and
half blinded: but he struggled up, and tore the
banister out in doing so, just as a heavy body
fell forward at his feet: it was Rooke stumbling
over Vulcan's carcase so unexpectedly thrown in
his path: Alfred cleared his eyes with his hand,
and as Rooke struggled up, lifted the banister
high above his head, and, with his long sinewy
arm and elastic body, discharged a blow frightful
to look at, for youth, strength, skill, and hate all
swelled, and rose, and struck together in that
one furious gesture. If the wood had held, the
skull must have gone. As it was, the banister
broke over the man's head (and one half went
spinning up to the ceiling); the man's head
cracked under the banister like a glass bottle;
and Rooke lay flat and mute, with the blood running
from his nose and ears. Alfred hurled the
remnant of the banister down at Hayes and the
others, and darted into a room (it was Julia's
bedroom), and was heard to open the window,
and then drag furniture to the door, and barricade
it. This done, he went to load his pistol,
which he thought he had slipped into his pocket
after felling Rooke. He found to his dismay it
was not there. The fact was, it had slipped past
his pocket and fallen down.

During the fight, shriek upon shriek issued
from the drawing-room. But now all was still.
On the stairs lay Vulcan dead, Rooke senseless:
below, Julia in a dead faint. And all in little
more than a minute.

Dr. Wolf arrived with the police and two more
keepers, new ones in the place of Wales and
Garrett discharged; and urged them to break
into the bedroom and capture the maniac: but
first he was cautious enough to set two of them
to watch the back of the house. "There," he
said, "where that load of hay is going in; that is
the way to it. Now stand you in the yard and
watch."

This last mandate was readily complied with;
for there was not much to be feared on the stones
below from a maniac self-immured on the second
story. But to break open that bedroom door
was quite another thing. The stairs were like a
shambles already, a chilling sight to the eyes of
mercenary valour.

Rooke was but just sensible: the others hung
back. But presently the pistol was found sticking
in a pool of gore. This put a new face on
the matter; and Dr. Wolf himself showed the
qualities of a commander. He sent down word
to his sentinels in the yard to be prepared for
any attempt on Alfred's part, however desperate:
and he sent a verbal message to a stately gentleman
who was sitting anxious in lodgings over the
way, after bribing high and low, giving out
money like water to secure the recapture, and
so escape what he called his unnatural son's
vengeance; for he knew him to be by nature
bold and vindictive like himself. After these
preliminaries, Doctor Wolf headed his remaining
forces, to wit, two keepers, and two policemen,
and thundered at the bedroom door, and summoned
Alfred to surrender.

Now among the spectators who watched and
listened with bated breath, was one to whom
this scene had an interest of its own. Mr. Hurd,
disconcerted by Alfred's sudden reappearance,
and the lovers' reconciliation, had hung about
the entry very miserable: for he was sincerely
attached to Julia. But, while he was in this
stupor, came the posse to recapture Alfred, and