change of a showman's
phantasmagoria--before the astonished eyes of the banker. He stood
arrested and spell-bound, his hand on his bridle, his foot on his
stirrup. A moment more and Darvil had clashed his antagonist on the
ground; he stood at a little distance, his face reddened by the glare of
the lanthorn and fronting his assailants--that fiercest of all beasts,
a desperate man at bay! He had already succeeded in drawing forth his
pistols, and he held one in each hand--his eyes flashing from beneath
his bent brows and turning quickly from foe to foe! At last those
terrible eyes rested on the late reluctant companion of his solitude.

"So _you_ then betrayed me," he said, very slowly, and directed his
pistol to the head of the dismounted horseman.

"No, no!" cried one of the officers, for such were Darvil's assailants;
"fire away in this direction, my hearty--we're paid for it. The
gentleman knew nothing at all about it."

"Nothing, by G--!" cried the banker, startled out of his sanctity.

"Then I shall keep my shot," said Darvil; "and mind, the first who
approaches me is a dead man."

It so happened that the robber and the officers were beyond the distance
which allows sure mark for a pistol-shot, and each party felt the
necessity of caution.

"Your time is up, my swell cove!" cried the head of the detachment; "you
have had your swing, and a long one it seems to have been--you must now
give in. Throw down your barkers, or we must make mutton of you, and rob
the gallows."

Darvil did not reply, and the officers, accustomed to hold life cheap,
moved on towards him--their pistols cocked and levelled.

Darvil fired--one of the men staggered and fell. With a kind of instinct
Darvil had singled out the one with whom he had before wrestled for
life. The ruffian waited not for the others--he turned and fled along
the fields.

"Zounds, he is off!" cried the other two, and they rushed after him in
pursuit. A pause--a shot--another--an oath--a groan--and all was still.

"It's all up with him now," said one of the runners, in the distance;
"he dies game."

At these words, the peasant, who had before skulked behind the haystack,
seized the lanthorn from the ground, and ran to the spot. The banker
involuntarily followed.

There lay Luke Darvil on the grass--still living, but a horrible and
ghastly spectacle. One ball had pierced his breast, another had shot
away his jaw. His eyes rolled fearfully, and he tore up the