ithout the slightest
sign of passion he bolted the door, and drew a heavy table across
it. "Here, in this room, from which both of us shall never walk forth
alive."

"Take care, sir, what you do; I am armed," said Hemsworth, as he threw a
quick glance around, to see if any hope of escape should present itself.

"And so am I," said Mark, coolly, who still busied himself in removing
every object from the middle of the room, while gently lifting Kate, he
laid her, still unconscious as she was, upon a sofa.

"We have neither of us much time to throw away, I fancy," said he,
with a bitter laugh; "choose your place now, sir, and fire when you
please--mine is yonder;" and as he spoke he turned half round to walk
towards the spot indicated. With the quickness of lightning, Hemsworth
seized the moment, and drawing a pistol from his bosom, aimed and fired;
the ball grazed Mark's shoulder, and made him stagger forwards; but in a
second he recovered himself: the casualty saved him; for while falling,
a second bullet whizzed after the first. With a cry of vengeance that
made the old walls ring again, Mark sprang at him; it was the deadly
leap of a tiger on his prey; the impulse was such, that as he caught him
in his arms, both rolled over together on the floor. The struggle was
but brief; Mark, superior in youth, strength, and activity, soon got
him under, and with his knee upon his chest, pinioned him down to
the ground. There was a pause, the only sounds being the quick-drawn
breathings of both, as with looks of hate they gazed at each
other;--while with one hand he grasped Hemsworth by the throat, with
the other he felt for his pistol: slowly he drew forth the weapon, and
cocked it; then laying the cold muzzle upon the other's forehead, he
pressed the trigger; the cock snapped, but the priming burned. He flung
the weapon from him in passion, and drew another; but ere he could
adjust it, Hemsworth ceased to breathe; a cold livid colour spread over
his features, and a clammy sweat bedewed his forehead--he had fainted.

Mark dropped the uplifted weapon, as he muttered--"It was a fitting
fate--the death of a coward." Then standing up, he approached the window
that overlooked the road, and threw it wide open. The storm still blew
with all its force, and in a second extinguished the lights in the room,
leaving all in darkness. With cautious steps, Mark moved towards where
the body lay, and lifting it in his powerful arms, carried it