e feeling, with which heart and brain were saturated.
In a few minutes he would see her again! In a new character,
possibly--tearful, humbled, supplicating. No; his instincts told him
that not even the last extremity of danger would force a tear from
those proud eyes, nor bow that haughty head an inch. How this wild,
fierce worship maddened him! So longing, yet so slavish--so reckless,
so debased, yet all the while cursed with a certain leavening of the
true faith, that drove him to despair. But come what might, in a
few minutes he would see her again. Even at such a time, there was
something of repose and happiness in the thought.

So the quasi-thoroughbred horse went to sleep and the men waited;
waited, wondering how the lagging minutes could pass so slow.

Listen! a light footstep round the corner. The gentle rustle of
a woman's dress. A tall, slight figure gliding yonder under the
gas-lamp, coming down the street, even now, with head erect, and easy,
undulating gait.

The blood rose to Jim's brain till it beat like strokes from a
sledge-hammer. Tom shortened the reins, and tightened his grasp round
the whip.

Nearer, nearer, she came on. The pure, calm face held high aloft, the
pliant figure moving ever with the same smooth, graceful gestures.
Fortune favoured them; she stopped when she reached the cab, and
seemed about to engage it for her journey.

The men were quick to see their advantage. Jim, coiled for a spring,
shrank into the darkest corner of the vehicle. Tom, enacting driver,
jumped down, and held the door to help her in.

Catching sight of the dark figure on the front seat, she started back.
The next moment, there rose a faint stifled shriek, the shawl was over
her head. Jim's powerful arms wound themselves tight round her body,
and Tom clambered in haste to the box.

But quick feet had already rained along that fifty yards of pavement.
A powerful grasp was at the driver's throat, pulling him back between
the wheels of the cab; and he found himself struggling for life with a
strong, angry man, who swore desperately, while two more figures ran
at speed up the street.

Tom's eyes were starting, his tongue was out.

"Jim, help me!" he managed to articulate. "I'm choking."

"You infernal scoundrel!" exclaimed his antagonist, whose fury seemed
redoubled by the sound of that familiar voice: the grasp, closing
round Tom's neck like iron, threatened death unless he could get free.

An instinct of se