even the dashing express was compelled
to slacken here a little in its speed.

It was on the 23rd of December, the same night in which Kate Foster
received so mysteriously the little Bible which was dropped with the
ring into her parlour, that four men were plodding along in the darkness
over a field-way which led to the wooden bridge just mentioned. They
were dressed in their ordinary mill or foundry working-clothes, and
seemed, from their stealthy walk and crouching manner, to be out on no
good or honest errand. Three of them slouched along with their hands
deep in their pockets; the fourth carried a bag of some kind, which
apparently was no burden to him, for it swung lightly backwards and
forwards on two of his fingers. The men's faces were all muffled in
scarves, and their caps pulled down over their eyes. As they walked
along the field-path in single file they preserved a profound silence.
At last they reached a stile which brought them out close to the end of
the bridge which was nearest to the up-line, along which the trains to
London passed.

It was now nearly half-past ten. Everything around was profoundly
still, except the faint wailing of the wind among the telegraph wires.
A drizzling rain had been falling at intervals, for the season was
remarkably mild for the time of year, though the little air that blew
was raw and chilly. It was very dark, nevertheless the great wooden
parapet of the bridge could be distinctly seen on either side, as the
four men stood on the roadway of the bridge itself midway over the line.

"Ned," said one of the men in a hoarse whisper, "just cross right over,
and see if there's any one about."

The man addressed crept cautiously over to the farther side of the line,
and along the road either way for a hundred yards or more, and then
returned to his companions.

"It's all right," he whispered; "there's not a soul stirring, as I can
hear or see."

"Well, wait a bit," said the man whom he addressed; "just let's listen."

All was perfectly quiet.

"Now, then," said the first speaker again, "the express won't be long
afore it's here; who'll do it?"

"Why, Joe Wright, to be sure; he's got the most spirit in him. I know
he'll do it," said another voice.

"He's got most beer in him, at any rate," said the first speaker.

There was a gruff chuckle all round.

"Well, I'm your man," said Wright; "I've carried the bag, and I may as
well finish the job."

"Look alive, t