Andrew was lifted out of himself. He jumped in ecstasy to his feet. It was he who led the applause. He felt that this was a worthy close to a brilliant career. We oldsters looking on more coolly could have seen where the speech was lacking, so far as Andrew was concerned. It is well known that when a great man, of whom there will be biographers, is to die a violent death, his last utterances are strangely significant, as if he foresaw his end. There was nothing of this in Lord Randolph's speech. The House was thinning when the noble lord rose to go. Andrew joined him at the gate. The Scotchman's nervous elation had all gone. A momentary thrill passed through his veins as he remembered that in all probability they would never be together again. After that he was quite calm. The night was black. The rain had ceased, but for an occasional drop shaken out of a shivering star. But for a few cabs rolling off with politicians, Whitehall was deserted. The very tax-collectors seemed to have got to bed. Lord Randolph shook hands with two or three other members homeward bound, walked a short distance with one of them, and then set off towards his hotel alone. His pace was leisurely, as that of a man in profound thought. There was no time to be lost; but Andrew dallied. Once he crept up and could have done it. He thought he would give him another minute. There was a footstep behind, and he fell back. It was Sir William Harcourt. Lord Randolph heard him, and, seeing who it was, increased his pace. The illustrious Liberal slackened at the same moment. Andrew bit his lip and hurried on. Some time was lost in getting round Sir William. He was advancing in strides now. Lord Randolph saw that he was pursued. When Andrew began to run, he ran too. There were not ten yards between them at Whitehall Place. A large man turning the corner of Great Scotland Yard fell against Andrew. He was wheeled aside, but Mr. Chaplin had saved a colleague's life. With a cry Andrew bounded on, his knife glistening. Trafalgar Square was a black mass. Lord Randolph took Northumberland Avenue in four steps, Andrew almost on the top of him. As he burst through the door of the Grand Hotel, his pursuer made one tremendous leap, and his knife catching Lord Randolph in the heel, carried away his shoe. Andrew's face had struck the steps. He heard the word "Fenian." There was a rushing to and fro of lights. Springing to his feet, he thrust the shoe into his pocket and went home. CHAPTER IX "Tie this muffler round your neck." It was the president who spoke. Andrew held his thesis in his hand. "But the rooms are so close," he said. "That has nothing to do with it," said the president. The blood rushed to his head, and then left him pale. "But why?" asked Andrew. "For God's sake, do as I bid you," said his companion, pulling himself by a great effort to the other side of the room. "You have done it?" he asked, carefully avoiding Andrew's face.