Night had fallen: not a bright or pleasant night.

A few skulkers had gathered behind the dwarf hedge, that skirted the piece of waste land near the North Works. An ill-looking set of men, as seen at present: for they had knelt so as to bring themselves almost on a level with the top of the hedge. Poole was in the middle; his face savage, a pistol in his right hand.

Of all the men who had returned to work, the most obnoxious to the old hands was one named Ralley. It was not so much because he had been a turn-coat--that is, after holding out to the eleventh moment, had finally gone back at the twelfth--that the men hated him, as because they believed him to be treacherous. Ralley had been red-hot for the strike; had done more by his agitation than any one man to bring it about. He had resolutely refused all the overtures made by Richard North: and yet--he had gone back when the works were finally reopened. For this the men heartily despised him--far more than they did those who had been ready to go back from the first. In addition to this, they had been suspecting--and lately had felt sure--that he was a snake in the grass. That he had laid himself out to pick up, fairly or stealthily, as might be, bits of information about them, their doings and sayings, their wretched condition and threats of revenge, and had carried them to the works and to Richard North. And so--the contents of the pistol that Poole held in his hand were meant for Ralley.

For a long time the malcontents of North Inlet had been burning to take vengeance on some one: some new treachery on Ralley\'s part, or suspected treachery, had come to light, and they determined to shoot him. Poor, misguided, foolish men! As if it would improve things for them! Suppose they killed Ralley, how would it better their condition? Ralley had not suffered half what they suffered. He was unmarried; and, during the strike, he had been helped by his relatives, who were pretty well off, so that he had known neither starvation nor tattered clothing, as they had: and this made his returning to work all the worse in their eyes. Ralley was about the age of Richard North, and not unlike him in height and figure: so much like him, indeed, that since their evil act had been determined on, one of the others had bade Poole take care he did not mistake the master for him in the dark. Poole\'s sullen rejoinder was, that it would not much matter if he did.

The night was dark; a drizzling rain had come on, and the part where they were was not too well lighted. The small band, about to issue from the gates of the works, would pass this waste land within some fifteen yards of them. Poole had been a famous marksman in his day, and felt sure of his aim. John Allen knelt on his right, one Denton on his left, and one on either side beyond: five in all.

Five o\'clock struck. Almost simultaneously the bell at the works was heard, giving warning that it was time for the men to go to tea. Three or four sharp, quick strokes: nothing more.

"That\'s Green, I\'ll swear," cried Denton, alluding to the ringer. "I didn\'t know he was back again: his rheumatics must be better."

"Hush--sh--sh!" was all Denton received in answer. And a death-like silence ensued. Poole broke it.

"Where the devil are they? Why don\'t they come?"

Ay, why did they not come? Simply because there had been scarcely sufficient time for them to do so. But every moment, to these would-be murderers, kneeling there, seemed like a long-drawn-out period.

"Here they are," whispered Denton.

It was so. The men were coming out at the gate, about twenty of them; two and two; the policemen to-night heading the string. Sometimes the officers were behind, at other times at the side of the men. Poole rose cautiously and prepared to take aim. They were crossing from the gates, and presently would pass the hedge. This was the second night the men had thus lain in ambush. The previous night they had waited in like manner; but Ralley happened to be then on the other side his companion in the march, and so for the time was saved.

Allen stretched up his head. His sight was keen as a sailor\'s.

"Which side\'s he on, Jack?" whispered Poole. "I don\'t see him yet."

For answer John Allen put his hand quickly on Poole\'s arm to lower the pistol. "No good again, mates," said he. "Ralley ain\'t there."

"Not there!" retorted Poole with a strong oath.

"I\'m as nigh sure of it as I can be," said Allen. "Wait till they come nearer."

It proved to be so. Ralley for some reason or other was not with the men. Denton again gave vent to a furious oath.

Tramp, tramp, tramp; their regular tread sounded in the stillness of the night as they passed. Poole had crouched down again.

The steps died away in the distance, and the conspirators ventured to raise their heads. Allen happened to look in the direction of the gates.

"Here he is!" burst forth Allen, with almost a suppressed scream. "Something must have kept him back. Now\'s our time, mates. Here\'s Ralley."

"That ain\'t his hat, Jack Allen," dissented one.

"Hat be smothered! it\'s himself," said John Allen.

Ralley was coming on quickly, a dark, low-crowned hat somewhat drawn over his brows. A minute\'s silence, during which you might have heard their hearts beat, and then----

Poole fired. Ralley gave a cry: staggered, and walked on. He was struck, no doubt, but not killed.

"Your boasted aim has failed, Poole," cried Denton with a savage oath.

Not more savage than Poole\'s, though, as he broke through the low hedge. What the bullet had not done, the pistol itself should. Suddenly, with a startled cry, Allen broke after him, shouting to him to stay his hand.

"It\'s the master, Poole; it\'s not Ralley. Stop, you fool!--it\'s the master."

Too late. It was, indeed, Richard North. And Mr. Poole had felled him by a wicked blow on the temple.

Mrs. Gass and Mary Dallory were seated at tea in a sad and sorrowful mood--for the conversation had turned on those dreadful rumours that, in spite of Richard North, would not be hushed. Mrs. Gass was stoutly asserting that she had more faith in Dr. Rane than to believe them, when some commotion in the street dawned on their ears. Mrs. Gass stopped in the midst of an emphatic sentence.

"What\'s that?" she cried.

Fleet steps seemed to be running to and fro; voices were raised in excitement. They distinctly heard the words, "Mr. Richard," "Richard North." Mrs. Gass drew aside her crimson curtains, and opened the window.

"Smith--is it you?" she said, arresting a man who was running in the wake of others. "What\'s the matter?"

"I don\'t rightly know, ma\'am," he answered. "They are saying that Mr. Richard North has been shot dead."

"Lord help us!" cried Mrs. Gass. She shut down the window and brought her face round to the light again. Every vestige of colour had left it. Mary Dallory stood rigidly upright, her hands clasped, as one ............