vilion.

"Here am I!" he cried--"Huddlestone! Kill me, and spare the others!"

His sudden appearance daunted, I suppose, our hidden enemies; for
Northmour and I had time to recover, to seize Clara between us, one by
each arm, and to rush forth to his assistance, ere anything further had
taken place. But scarce had we passed the threshold when there came near
a dozen reports and flashes from every direction among the hollows of
the links. Mr. Huddlestone staggered, uttered a weird and freezing cry,
threw up his arms over his head, and fell backward on the turf.

"_Traditore! Traditore!_" cried the invisible avengers.

And just then a part of the roof of the pavilion fell in, so rapid was
the progress of the fire. A loud, vague, and horrible noise accompanied
the collapse, and a vast volume of flame went soaring up to heaven. It
must have been visible at that moment from twenty miles out at sea, from
the shore at Graden-Wester, and far inland from the peak of Graystiel,
the most eastern summit of the Caulder Hills. Bernard Huddlestone,
although God knows what were his obsequies, had a fine pyre at the
moment of his death.

CHAPTER IX

TELLS HOW NORTHMOUR CARRIED OUT HIS THREAT

I should have the greatest difficulty to tell you what followed next
after this tragic circumstance. It is all to me, as I look back upon it,
mixed, strenuous, and ineffectual, like the struggles of a sleeper in a
nightmare. Clara, I remember, uttered a broken sigh and would have
fallen forward to earth, had not Northmour and I supported her
insensible body. I do not think we were attacked; I do not remember even
to have seen an assailant; and I believe we deserted Mr. Huddlestone
without a glance. I only remember running like a man in a panic, now
carrying Clara altogether in my own arms, now sharing her weight with
Northmour, now scuffling confusedly for the possession of that dear
burden. Why we should have made for my camp in the Hemlock Den, or how
we reached it, are points lost for ever to my recollection. The first
moment at which I became definitely sure, Clara had been suffered to
fall against the outside of my little tent, Northmour and I were
tumbling together on the ground, and he, with contained ferocity, was
striking for my head with the butt of his revolver. He had already twice
wounded me on the scalp; and it is to the subsequent loss of blood that
I am tempted to attribute the sudden clearness of my mind.

I caught