est--her lover, for all I can tell,"
he says scornfully. "I hope she is proud of him and of the end he has
come to. He was shot down like a dog. I heard the cry he gave, I was so
close behind him."

The tears are rolling down Honor's cheeks; she is trembling so that she
can scarcely stand.

"Oh, Launce," she cries piteously, "and it might have been you!"

"It ought to have been," her brother says, with a low harsh laugh that
echoes dismally through the quiet sunny room. "That is where the
mistake comes in!" Honor looks at him in dismay. He is so unlike
himself that he frightens her. "I was to have gone first--according to
their program--so that the men might attack me and give the police the
chance of coming down upon them unawares. She saw me go out of her
house to what she thought would be certain death, and she never lifted
a finger to keep me back. That was womanly, wasn't it?"

The girl cannot answer him. She has never liked this woman--she has
shrunk from and distrusted her always; but she never dreamed she could
be capable of treachery so base and cruel as this.

"And whom do you think they were after?" Launce says, after a pause.
"Power Magill! To think of a man like that being mixed up with the
rabble rout that was out last night! But they missed him; and, though I
hate the fellow, I was glad that they did."

The girl has crossed the room and is standing close beside him now, her
hand on the arm of his chair, her white face bent toward him.

"No, Launce, they did not miss him--he was taken here!" He listens; but
it is evident that he does not understand. "Yes, in this house," the
girl goes on coldly, "where he has been a welcome guest and friend all
his life! He came in with the rest to threaten and rob--and murder,
too, if need be, I have no doubt! We have been fortunate in our friends
and neighbors, Launce!"

"By Jove!" he gasps, and sits and stares at her--a man thoroughly
startled and distressed.

Not to him need she apply for help in the plan that has already vaguely
formed itself in her mind. She knows quite well that he would rather
hinder then help her in any effort to save Power Magill. If he is to be
saved at all, it must be at once, before they have time to remove him
to Dublin; and the girl's heart throbs and her brain grows dizzy as she
tries to think out her simple yet daring scheme. It is that some
one--as near his height and build as possible--should get leave to
visit him, and then t