s where he trod. He
sank over his knees in the mire, and was obliged to extricate
himself before he could advance.

With difficulty, by means of oziers, he succeeded in reaching firm
soil, and then, with more circumspection, he sought a way by which
he might come to the help of Mehetabel.

Meanwhile, regardless of the contest of human passion, raging close
by, the great bird swung like a pendulum above the mere, and its
shadow swayed below it.

"Let go! I will murder you, if you do not!" hissed Jonas. "You
think I will kill him. So I will, but I will kill you first."

"Iver! help!" cried Mehetabel; her strength was abandoning her.

The Broom-Squire dragged his kneeling wife forward, and then thrust
her back. He held the gun by the stock and the end of the barrel.
The rest was grappled by her, close to her bosom.

He sought to throw her on her face, then on her back. So only could
he wrench the gun away.

"Ah, ah!" with a shout of triumph.

He had disengaged the barrel from her arm. He turned it sharply
upward, to twist it out of her hold she had with the other arm.

Then--suddenly--an explosion, a flash, a report, a cry; and
Bideabout staggered back and fell.

A rush of wings.

The large bird that had vibrated above the water had been alarmed,
and now flew away.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE IRON-STONE HAMMER.

For a couple of minutes complete, death-like silence ensued.

Mehetabel, panting, everything swimming, turning before her eyes,
remained motionless on her knees, but rested her hands on Thor's
Stone, to save herself from falling on her face.

What had happened she hardly knew. The gun had been discharged, and
then had fallen before her knees. Whom had it injured? What was
the injury done?

She was unable to see, through the veil of tears that covered her
eyes. She had not voice wherewith to speak.

Iver, moreover, stood motionless, holding to a willow. He also was
ignorant of what had occurred. Was the shot aimed at him, or at
Mehetabel? Who had fired?

Crouching against a bush, into which he had staggered and then
collapsed, was the Broom-Squire. A sudden spasm of pain had shot
through him at the flash of the gun. That he was struck he knew,
to what extent injured he could not guess.

As he endeavored to raise one hand, the left, in which was the seat
of pain, he became aware that his arm was stiff and powerless. He
could not move his fingers.

The blood was coursing over his hand in