ow," Power Magill says fiercely. "To think a fellow like
that should have baffled us at the last moment! If it were not for the
men's cowardly fear that the police were with him, he couldn't have
done it."

"Faith, and that's true for yer honor!"

Very slowly they come back again, talking earnestly. It is evident from
what they way that Power Magill has offended his friends by to-night's
rashness and, though his companion speaks respectfully there is a
veiled threat in his words that Power cannot but feel.

"I would do it over again," Power answers sternly, "if it was my life
that I was risking in place of my liberty."

"But the boys don't care to risk their liberty--why should they, the
cratures?--even for a beautiful young lady like Miss Honor--Heaven
bless her!" the other man says sturdily.

His master retorts angrily; but they are too far off now for their
words to be heard; and again silence reigns.

It is long before Brian and Honor dare to move, though the girl is
trembling with cold and the man's arm is paining him intensely--longer
still before they venture out of their hiding-place.

Honor will never forget that walk up to the house in the chill damp
night, the dread of pursuit making her heart throb wildly. Her
companion is very silent; and, when he does speak, his voice sounds
cold and harsh. More than once she tries to thank him for coming to her
help so bravely; but the words die away on her lips. She finds it hard
to believe that this man spoke tenderly to her only a little time ago.
His very words ring in her ears and serve to make his grim silence more
oppressive.

"He is sorry already for having spoken then," she says to herself; "but
he need not be. I shall never remind him of them--never!"

They are within sight of the house before she can summon up courage to
thank him for coming to her aid.

"It was so brave of you," she adds simply; "for of course you did not
know how many you might have to face! I'm afraid I am very stupid--I
don't know how to thank you as you deserve."

"No, no," he says hastily, almost impatiently. "Pray do not thank me at
all; I deserve no thanks, I assure you! I would have done as much for
any woman!"

There is something almost cruel in the way in which he says it, and
tears well up in the girl's eyes.

"I know you would," she says, with cold gentleness; "but that does not
make the act less brave."

Suddenly he turns on her with unexpected passion.

"I was