g his cousin's name, and whose title
and estate he now holds?"

Mark stood there, white as a sheet, glaring at the speaker.

"How will you stand then, Mark, with officers and men of honour. Take
my offer before you fall."

"I tell you," whispered Mark huskily, "that Richard Frayne is dead, and
that you are an impostor."

"And I tell you that I will have no mercy now," cried Richard,
excitedly. "I tried to spare you, but this life is intolerable since
you came here. Once more, will you accept my terms?"

"Impostor!"

"Then take your chance!"

"Take yours!" cried Mark, in the same low whisper, as he snatched a
revolver from his pocket and fired quickly at his cousin, who sprang
back, dragged a hop-pole from the side of the alley, snapping it in two,
and, wild with agony and excitement, made a rush at Mark, who met it by
standing firm, now taking aim at his cousin's head.

But he did not fire; for all at once Richard's knees gave way, the stout
pole fell from his grasp, and, flinging up his hands, he swayed over
backward with a crash, bearing down a portion of the hop-bine as he
fell.

Mark stood there with his arm still rigidly extended, but altering his
position now. Then, taking a step or two forward, he bent over, gazing
fixedly at his cousin's distorted face, and taking aim once more as he
stooped. He was about to draw the trigger, when the sharp barking of a
dog arose from two or three hundred yards away.

The barking ceased, and Mark hurriedly thrust the pistol back in his
pocket, but a sudden thought struck him, and, quickly stooping down, he
seized his cousin's clenched right hand, dragged the fingers apart, and
placed the weapon in his grasp; then laying the broken piece of hop-pole
back, as if it had been broken in the fall, he rose and looked sharply
up and down the alley, and stepped into the next, after peering through
and looking up and down that.

The next moment his white and alarmed face reappeared, avoiding the body
lying prone, as his eyes peered here and there till they fell upon the
freshly-lit cigar he had dropped from his lips; for a faint streak of
smoke rose from where it lay, and betrayed its presence.

Reaching forward, he caught it up, drew back and disappeared through the
drooping hops, passing from one alley to another, till he elected to
walk straight on to a coppice on the other side; here lighting his cigar
afresh, he began to walk back toward Ratcham at a slow steady p