Ah! he was working up now to his panegyric! The tiny dark figure was back, a yard nearer the statue, and as she looked, his hand went up and he wheeled, pointing, as a murmur of applause drowned for an instant the minute, resonant voice. Then again he was forward, half crouching--for he was a born actor--and a storm of laughter rippled round the throng of heads. She heard an indrawn hiss behind her chair, and the next instant an exclamation from Mabel.... What was that? There was a sharp crack, and the tiny gesticulating figure staggered back a step. The old man at the table was up in a moment, and simultaneously a violent commotion bubbled and heaved like water about a rock at a point in the crowd immediately outside the railed space where the bands were massed, and directly opposite the front of the platform. Mrs. Brand, bewildered and dazed, found herself standing up, clutching the window rail, while the girl gripped her, crying out something she could not understand. A great roaring filled the square, the heads tossed this way and that, like corn under a squall of wind. Then Oliver was forward again, pointing and crying out, for she could see his gestures; and she sank back quickly, the blood racing through her old veins, and her heart hammering at the base of her throat. “My dear, my dear, what is it?” she sobbed. But Mabel was up, too, staring out at her husband; and a quick babble of talk and exclamations from behind made itself audible in spite of the roaring tumult of the square. II Oliver told them the explanation of the whole affair that evening at home, leaning back in his chair, with one arm bandaged and in a sling. They had not been able to get near him at the time; the excitement in the square had been too fierce; but a messenger had come to his wife with the news that her husband was only slightly wounded, and was in the hands of the doctors. “He was a Catholic,” explained the drawn-faced Oliver. “He must have come ready, for his repeater was found loaded. Well, there was no chance for a priest this time.” Mabel nodded slowly: she had read of the man’s fate on the placards. “He was killed--trampled and strangled instantly,” said Oliver. “I did what I could: you saw me. But--well, I dare say it was more merciful.” “But you did what you could, my dear?” said the old lady, anxiously, from her corner. “I called out to them, mother, but they wouldn’t hear me.” Mabel leaned forward--- “Oliver, I know this sounds stupid of me; but--but I wish they had not killed him.” Oliver smiled at her. He knew this tender trait in her. “It would have been more perfect if they had not,” she said. Then she broke off and sat back. “Why did he shoot just then?” she asked. Oliver turned his eyes for an instant towards his mother, but she was knitting tranquilly. Then he answered with a curious deliberateness.