outlaw, a common robber
under arms!

"And you never told me!" she cried, in an indignant whisper.

"We never told Mrs. Clarkson either. You must blame the boss."

Hilda snatched her eyes from Stingaree, and was sorry for Mrs. Clarkson
for the first time in their acquaintance. The new ball-dress of bridal
satin was no whiter than its wearer's face, which had aged several years
in as many seconds. The squatter leant toward her with uplifted hands,
loyally concerned for no one and for nothing else. Between the couple
Sir Julian might have been conducting without his baton, but with both
arms. Meanwhile, the flashing eye-glass had fixed itself on Miss
Bouverie's companion, without resting for an instant on Miss Bouverie.

"Silence over there!" cried Stingaree, sternly. "I'm here on a perfectly
harmless errand. If you know anything about me at all, you may know that
I have a weakness for music of any kind, so long as it's good of its
kind."

The eye-glass dropped for a moment upon Mrs. Clarkson in the front row,
and the irrepressible Radford was enabled to continue his say.

"He has, too, from a mouth-organ to a full orchestra, from all accounts,
Miss Bouverie. _My revolver's in the coat-pocket next you!_"

"It is the music," continued Stingaree, looking harder than before in
their direction, "which has brought me here to-night. I've come to
listen, and for no other reason in the world. Unfortunately, when one
has a price upon one's head, one has to take certain precautions before
venturing among one's fellow-men. And, though I'm not here for gain or
bloodshed, if any man of you gives me trouble I shall shoot him like a
dog!"

"That's one for me," whispered the intrepid overseer, in lower key.
"Never mind. He's not looking at us now. I believe Mrs. Clarkson's going
to faint. _You take what I told you and slip it under your shawl, and
you'll save a second by passing it up to me the instant you see her
sway!_"

Hilda hesitated. A dead silence had fallen on the crowded and heated
store, and in the silence Stingaree was already taking an unguarded
interest in Mrs. Clarkson's appearance, which as certainly betokened
imminent collapse. "_Now!_" whispered Radford, and Hilda hesitated no
more. She was wearing a black lace shawl between her appearances at the
piano; she had the revolver under it in a twinkling, and pressed it to
her bosom with both hands, one outside the shawl and one underneath, as
who should hug a beatin