in being like no
other. She remembered it to be the voice of the man that had challenged
her father that memorable day--remembered it to be the voice of
Wolfgang.

Like an evil bird of prey had he scented from afar the silver stored
under the trap-door, just as he had scented the sum of money her father
had hidden away in the house.

"It's no use your sheltering yourselves in there," said the voice. "We
want to harm no one--it's against our principles. What we want is just
the silver hidden under the counting-house, and we want nothing more."

With one finger upraised, cautioning silence, Kate saw for the twentieth
time to the priming of her rifle--the very rifle that had shot
Wolfgang's chief man four years before. There was no need for her to
caution her companions to silence. They knelt on the floor--a huddled,
trembling trio.

If only Kate could see how many men there were! But she could not.

"It will take them some time to batter in that door," thought she, "and
by that time, who knows, help may come from some unexpected quarter."

"Do you dare to defy us?" said the voice again. "We know you are utterly
helpless. Sam has been got out of the way by a cooked-up story, ditto
your manager. They are both swearing in the broiling township by now."
And the voice broke off with a loud "Ha! ha!"

At which two other voices echoed "Ha! ha! ha! ha!"

Kate strained her ears to catch the sounds. Were there only three, then,
just as there had been three four years before?

Then ensued a battering at the door, but it stood like a rock. They were
tiring at that game. It hurt them, and did no good. There was silence
for the space of some minutes, and then the sound of scraping reached
Kate's ears.

What were they doing now?

It sounded on the roof of the counting-house. O God! they were never
going to make an entrance that way!

Scrape, scrape, scrape. The sound went on persistently.

Kate's face was hidden in her hands. Was she praying? thought Cicely.
Then she, too, lifted up a silent prayer for help in their time of need.

Kate's voice whispering in her ear aroused her. "Come," she breathed.

And with one accord, without a question, the three followed her
silently.

The room beyond the counting-house was up a narrow flight of stairs. It
used to be called by Kate, in derision, "Father's observatory." Through
a small pane of glass in this room she could see the roof of the
counting-house.

Sawing away at the