be SHOT?"

Marco stood up quite straight. He tried to believe he felt the wall
against his back.

"If I were shot, I should be shot for Samavia," he said. "And for YOU,
Father."

Even as he was speaking, the front door-bell rang and Lazarus evidently
opened it. He spoke to some one, and then they heard his footsteps
approaching the back sitting-room.

"Open the door," said Loristan, and Marco opened it.

"There is a boy who is a cripple here, sir," the old soldier said. "He
asked to see Master Marco."

"If it is The Rat," said Loristan, "bring him in here. I wish to see
him."

Marco went down the passage to the front door. The Rat was there, but
he was not upon his platform. He was leaning upon an old pair of
crutches, and Marco thought he looked wild and strange. He was white,
and somehow the lines of his face seemed twisted in a new way. Marco
wondered if something had frightened him, or if he felt ill.

"Rat," he began, "my father--"

"I've come to tell you about MY father," The Rat broke in without
waiting to hear the rest, and his voice was as strange as his pale
face. "I don't know why I've come, but I--I just wanted to. He's
dead!"

"Your father?" Marco stammered. "He's--"

"He's dead," The Rat answered shakily. "I told you he'd kill himself.
He had another fit and he died in it. I knew he would, one of these
days. I told him so. He knew he would himself. I stayed with him
till he was dead--and then I got a bursting headache and I felt
sick--and I thought about you."

Marco made a jump at him because he saw he was suddenly shaking as if
he were going to fall. He was just in time, and Lazarus, who had been
looking on from the back of the passage, came forward. Together they
held him up.

"I'm not going to faint," he said weakly, "but I felt as if I was. It
was a bad fit, and I had to try and hold him. I was all by myself.
The people in the other attic thought he was only drunk, and they
wouldn't come in. He's lying on the floor there, dead."

"Come and see my father," Marco said. "He'll tell us what do do.
Lazarus, help him."

"I can get on by myself," said The Rat. "Do you see my crutches? I
did something for a pawnbroker last night, and he gave them to me for
pay."

But though he tried to speak carelessly, he had plainly been horribly
shaken and overwrought. His queer face was yellowish white still, and
he was trembling a little.

Marco led the way into the bac