prostrate man rose, and both he and the one whom poor Ugly--
now dead on the grass--had attacked came to help crush the Captain.
Then the front door was flung open. Walter fired, and the man who had
killed our brave dog dropped the knife he held, and, clasping his left
shoulder with his right hand, screamed out a terrible oath, and, yelling
with pain, ran from the struggle. At the same moment--all these events,
from the time Captain Mugford arrived until the door was opened to admit
him, not occupying probably three minutes--the Captain fell beneath his
adversary, whose fingers clutched his throat, and the infuriated outlaw
seemed determined to finish him. Walter could not fire again without
shooting the very one for whose safety alone he would fire. But Clump
jumped out with his iron bar and struck the assailant on the head. The
Captain was released just as I saw the other miscreant level a pistol at
Clump. I called, "Oh, Clump, Clump, take care!" With the sound of my
voice came the sharp, fatal crack of the pistol, and Clump fell
back--_dead_!

Two minutes more and all the smugglers were in full flight. The old,
grey-headed, faithful, true-hearted Clump was dead, and Juno stretched
unconscious on her husband's body. Ugly, all hacked to pieces, lay in a
pool of blood, yet gasping. Captain Mugford, wounded, bruised, and
exhausted, sat on the doorstep. Mr Clare was leaning over Clump with a
hand on the pulseless heart. The burning wreck yet lighted the heavens,
and the horrid scene at the very doorstep of our home of such a happy
half-year.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

A RETROSPECT AND FAREWELL.

It is fifty years ago and some months since that rainy, bloody,
flame-lit October night. And now this cold, wintery, blustering
midnight, I--the Bob Tregellin of my story--sit writing this concluding
chapter.

There is a coal-fire glowing hot in the grate. There are shelves and
shelves of books; easy-chairs sprawling their indolent figures here and
there; a curled-up bunch of fur purring in one; an old black setter-dog
dreaming--as I can see by the whine in his quick breathing and the
kicking of his outstretched legs--on a bearskin rug before the fire; and
a circle of bright light from a well-shaded lamp falls about my table.
Yes--but I shall get up now for a minute and take down the old musket
and dog-collar, the sight of which always vividly recalls those happiest
months of my life--Fifty Years Ago.

As I replac