uite a mob of people. She ran like a hare. Heaven only knows if she
hoped to escape after her failure to kill Sylvia, but she ran on
blindly. Into the new street of Jubileetown she sped with the roaring
mob at her heels. She darted down a side thoroughfare, but Deborah
gained on her silently and with a savage look in her eyes. Several
policemen joined in the chase, though no one knew what the flying woman
had done. Maud turned suddenly up the slope that led to the station. She
gained the door, darted through it, upset the man at the barrier and
with clenched fists stood at bay, her back to the rails. Deborah darted
forward--Maud gave a wild scream and sprang aside: then she reeled and
fell over the platform. The next moment a train came slowing into the
station, and immediately the wretched woman was under the cruel wheels.
When she was picked up she was dead and almost cut to pieces. Lady
Rachel and Lemuel Krill were revenged.

CHAPTER XXVI

A FINAL EXPLANATION

Sylvia was ill for a long time after that terrible hour. Although Maud
had not succeeded in strangling her, yet the black silk handkerchief
left marks on her neck. Then the struggle, the shock and the remembrance
of the horrors related by the miserable woman, threw her into a nervous
fever, and it was many weeks before she recovered sufficiently to enjoy
life. Deborah never forgave herself for having left Sylvia alone, and
nursed her with a fierce tenderness which was the result of remorse.

"If that wretch 'ad killed my pretty," she said to Paul, "I'd ha' killed
her, if I wos hanged fur it five times over."

"God has punished the woman," said Paul, solemnly. "And a terrible death
she met with, being mutilated by the wheels of the train."

"Serve 'er right," rejoined Deborah, heartlessly. "What kin you expect
fur good folk if wicked ones, as go strangulating people, don't git the
Lord down on 'em. Oh, Mr. Beecot," Deborah broke down into noisy tears,
"the 'orrors that my lovely one 'ave tole me. I tried to stop her, but
she would tork, and was what you might call delirous-like. Sich murders
and gory assassins as wos never 'eard of."

"I gathered something of this from what Sylvia let drop when we came
back from the station," said Beecot, anxiously. "Tell me exactly what
she said, Deborah."

"Why that thing as is dead, an' may she rest in a peace, she don't
deserve, tole 'ow she murdered Lady Rachel Sandal an' my ole master."

"Deborah," cried