fighting ended
as abruptly as it had begun. Twenty minutes after the flight of that
stone, the square was empty save a group of perhaps fifty men and women
formed about Victor Dorn's body in the shelter of the platform.

Selma Gordon was holding his head. Jane Hastings and Ellen Clearwater
were kneeling beside him, and Jane was wiping his face with a
handkerchief wet with whisky from the flask of the man who had escorted
them there.

"He is only stunned," said Selma. "I can feel the beat of his blood.
He is only stunned."

A doctor came, got down on his knees, made a rapid examination with
expert hands. As he felt, one of the relighted torches suddenly lit up
Victor's face and the faces of those bending over him.

"He is only stunned, Doctor," said Selma.

"I think so," replied the doctor.

"We left our carriage in the side street just over there," said Jane
Hastings. "It will take him to the hospital."

"No--home," said Selma, who was calm. "He must be taken home."

"The hospital is the place for him," said the doctor.

"No--home," repeated Selma. She glanced at the men standing round.
"Tom--Henry--and you, Ed--help me lift him."

"Please, Selma," whispered Jane. "Let him be taken to the hospital."

"Among our enemies?" said Selma with a strange and terrible little
laugh. "Oh, no. After this, we trust no one. They may have arranged
to finish this night's work there. He goes home--doesn't he, boys?"

"That's right, Miss Gordon," replied one of them.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Here's where I drop the case,"
said he.

"Nothing of the kind," cried Jane imperiously. "I am Jane
Hastings--Martin Hastings' daughter. You will come with us, please--or
I shall see to it that you are not let off easily for such a shameful
neglect of duty."

"Let him go, Jane," said Selma. "There will be a doctor waiting. And
he is only stunned. Come, boys--lift him up."

They laid him on a bench top, softened with the coats of his followers.
At the carriage, standing in Farwell Street, they laid him across the
two seats. Selma got in with him. Tom Colman climbed to the box
beside the coachman. Jane and Miss Clearwater, their escorts and about
a score of the Leaguers followed on foot. As the little procession
turned into Warner Street it was stopped by a policeman.

"Can't go down this way," he said.

"It's Mr. Dorn. We're taking him home. He was hurt," explained Colman.

"Fire lines. Stre