WHEN David fell senseless on the floor, Mr. Hardie was somewhat confused by the back-handed blow from his convulsed and whirling arm. But Skinner ran to him, held up his head, and whipped off his neckcloth.

Then Hardie turned to seize the bell and ring for assistance; but Skinner shook his head and said it was useless: this was no faint: old Betty could not help him.

“It is a bad day’s work, sir,” said he, trembling: “he is a dead man.”

“Dead? Heaven forbid!”

“Apoplexy!” whispered Skinner.

“Run for a doctor then: lose no time: don’t let us have his blood on our hands! Dead?”

And he repeated the word this time in a very different tone, a. tone too strange and significant to escape Skinner’s quick ear. However, he laid David’s head gently down and rose from his knees to obey.

What did he see now, but Mr. Hardie, with his back turned, putting the notes and bills softly into the safe again out of sight. He saw, comprehended, and took his own course with equal rapidity.

“Come, run!” cried Mr. Hardie; “I’ll take care of him; every moment is precious.”

(“Wants to get rid of me!” thought Skinner.) “No, sir,” said he, “be ruled by me: let us take him to his friends: he won’t live; and we shall get all the blame if we doctor him.”

Already egotism had whispered Hardie, “How lucky if he should die!” and now a still guiltier thought flashed through him: he did not try to conquer it; he only trembled at him............