On the unexpected arrival of Lord Harry at this hotel, there had been hurriedly called together a meeting of those members then in Dublin. It was resolved that the traitor must be removed. Lots were cast, and the lot fell upon one who remembered past acts of kindness done by Lord Harry to his own people. He would fain have been spared this business, but the rules of the society are imperative. He must obey. It is the practice of the society when a murder has been resolved upon to appoint a second man, whose duty it is to accompany the murderer and to see that he executes his task. In the afternoon, about an hour before sunset, the train arrived at the station where Lord Harry was to get down. The station-master recognised him, and touched his hat. Then he saw the two other men got down after him, and he turned pale. "I will leave my portmanteau," said Lord Harry, "in the cloak-room. It will be called for." Afterwards the station-master remembered those words. Lord Harry did not say "I will call for it," but "It will be called for." Ominous words. The weather was cold; a drizzling rain fell; the day was drawing in. Lord Harry left the station, and started with quick step along the road, which stretched across a dreary desolate piece of country. The two men walked after him. One presently quickened his step, leaving the second man twenty yards behind. The station-master looked after them till he could see them no longer. Then he shook his head and returned to his office. Lord Harry walking along the road knew that the two men were following him. Presently he became aware that one of them was quickening his pace. He walked on. Perhaps his cheeks paled and his lips were set close, because he knew that he was walking to his death. The steps behind him approached faster--faster. Lord Harry never even turned his head. The man was close behind him. The man was beside him. "Mickey O'Flynn it is," said Lord Harry. "'Tis a ---- traitor, you are," said the man. "Your friends the Invincibles told you that, Mickey. Why, do you think I don't know, man, what are you here for? Well?" he stopped. "I am unarmed. You have got a revolver in your hand--the hand behind your back. What are you stopping for?" "I cannot," said the man. "You must, Mickey O'Flynn--you must; or it's murdered you'll be yourself," said Lord Harry, coolly. "Why, man, 'tis but to lift your hand. And then you'll be a murderer for life. I am another--we shall both be murderers then. Why don't you fire, man." "By ---- I cannot!" said Mickey. He held the revolver behind him, but he did not lift his arm. His eyes started: his mouth was open; the horror of the murderer was upon him before the murder was committed. Then he started. "Look!" he cried. "Look behind you, my lord!" Lord Harry turned. The second man was upon him. He bent forward and peered in his face. "Arthur Mountjoy's murderer!" he cried, and sprang at his throat.