do the shipping," said Tony, moving still nearer the
speaker.

"Officer," said Maitland sharply to a uniformed policeman standing by
his side, "arrest that man!" pointing to Tony.

The policeman drew his baton, took two strides forward, seized Tony by
the back of the neck and drew him in. An angry yell went up from the
mob. Maitland felt a hand upon his arm. Looking down, he saw to his
horror and dismay Annette, her face white and stricken with grief and
terror.

"Oh, Jack," she pleaded, "don't let Tony be arrested. He broke away from
us. Let me take him. He will come with me. Oh, let me take him!"

"Rescue! Rescue!" shouted the crowd, rushing the cordon of police lining
the street.

"Kill him! Kill the traitor!" yelled Simmons, struggling through and
waving unsteadily the revolver in his hand. "Down with that tyrant,
Maitland! Kill him!" he shrieked.

He raised his arm, holding his gun with both hands.

"Look out, Jack," shrieked Annette, flinging herself on him.

Simultaneously with the shot, a woman's scream rang out and Annette fell
back into Maitland's arms. A silence deep as death fell upon the mob.

With a groan McNish dropped from the fence beside the girl.

Annette opened her eyes and, looking up into Maitland's face, whispered:
"He didn't get you, Jack. I'm so glad."

"Oh, Annette, dear girl! He's killed you!"

"It's--all--right--Jack," she whispered. "I--saved--you."

Meanwhile McNish, with her hand caught in his, was sobbing: "God, have
mercy! She's deed! She's deed!"

Annette again opened her eyes. "Poor Malcolm," she whispered. "Dear
Malcolm." Then, closing her eyes again, quietly as a tired child, she
sank into unconsciousness. The big Scotchman, still kissing her hand,
sobbed:

"Puir lassie, puir lassie! Ma God! Ma God! What now? What now?"

"She is dead. The girl is dead." The word passed from lip to lip among
the crowd, which still held motionless and silent.

"We'll get her into the office," said Maitland.

"A'll tak her," said McNish, and, stopping down, he lifted her tenderly
in his arms, stood for a moment facing the crowd, and then in a voice of
unutterable sadness that told of a broken heart, he said: "Ye've killed
her. Ye've killed the puir lassie. Are ye content?" And passed in
through the gate, holding the motionless form close to his heart.

As he passed with his pathetic burden, the men on guard at the gate
bared their heads. Immediately on every hand throughout the c