yes peering into the
darkness, his every sense alert. He ate nothing, he drank nothing--to all
appearance he never slept.

On the fourth day, he crept feebly halfway towards the cellar. Privation
was beginning to tell on him. His only hope was that the invaders might
have retired.

For the first few yards it almost seemed as if it was so. Neither in the
air nor on the ground could he detect the slightest vibration; but, as he
turned a sharp corner, the hope was dispelled. The whole run quivered with
the stealthy whisper of rats' footsteps. Faint squeaks and whimperings
echoed along it. The cellar was evidently still occupied in force; he was
cornered between starvation and insuperable odds. Yet there might be a
scrap of food this side of the cellar. He stole forward until another turn
revealed the ledge. In the centre of the ledge were three brown rats. The
farther one was cleaning itself, but the other two were feeding, and, at
the sight of the food, he lost all prudence. He was upon them before he
was perceived. The two dropped their provender, leapt blindly forward, and
fell clumsily to the floor below, but the third slid down the junction of
the walls.

The black rat realized what that meant. As he turned his head, he saw his
retreat cut off. Two more had scaled the corner behind him. He swung about
to face them, girded himself to charge, and, instead of charging, stopped
dead.

[Illustration: THE FARTHER ONE WAS CLEANING ITSELF.]

For the first time in his life he knew what fear was. Before him were his
immediate adversaries; his quick ears caught the crumbling of plaster
behind him. Rats were mounting that corner also.

Five feet below lay the floor. Its surface glistened with shifting beads
of light--light from rats' eyes.

He was between the devil and the deep sea--the floor was the sea, and the
devil was assuredly advancing towards him. Never before had he set eyes on
such a beast--ten inches from head to tail, brawny, misshapen, mangy, a
veritable Caliban of rats.

[Illustration: A VERITABLE CALIBAN OF RATS.]

The position was hopeless. All he could do was to die game. Caliban had
crept within a foot of him, and was pulling himself into position. But he
was too slow. Before he had raised his clumsy fore-paws from the ground,
the black rat's teeth had met in his throat. His huge frame quivered for
a moment, staggered, and lurched heavily off the shelf. He carried his
comrade with him.

First blood!