There was no time to be lost, for the red glow of torches, the noise of singing, and the sound of that terrible tramp, were coming nearer with every second. The coachman slammed the door, and the carriage dashed away too swiftly to fear pursuit by men on foot. Doors and windows had already been securely fastened, and now, that by which his guests had departed having been secured also, Mr. Randolph turned to re-enter the parlor. “Now, all we have to do,” he said cheerfully to Louis and Edgar Harrison, who had stayed, hoping by his personal influence to do some good, “all we have to do is to—Pinkie!” For down the great staircase, her eyes and cheeks bright with excitement, came Pinkie. She shivered with cold, and had wrapped a great scarlet opera cloak over the whiteness of her crape. One hand held the ermine collar closely around her throat, the other clung for support to the brazen balustrade; but her smile was as saucy as ever as she said,— “It’s just like a man to want to keep all the fun for himself. I’m not to be fooled that way, daddy, I assure you.” “You are a recklessly disobedient child, Rosalie, and I am severely displeased with you,” said her father sternly; “but,” as a roar as of wild beasts showed that the house was surrounded, “we must make the best of it now. It is _too late_.” There was utter silence among the little group, for a moment; then a repetition of that savage roar, another, and another, shook the night air. “I should like to know what they are doing?” said Henry Randolph restlessly. Pinkie, with her face on his shoulder, trembled in every limb. “I hope you are enjoying the fun, my dear,” he added, looking down at her. The roar changed to his own name. “Randolph! Randolph! come out, come out!” “You’ll never think of such a thing, Mr. Randolph,” cried Edgar Harrison. “Let me go instead. I may be able to influence them!” “_Influence_ a mob?” said Henry Randolph, smiling as he placed his daughter in a chair and hastily kissed her brow. “The only hope is to keep them amused until the police can come up. If they only have the sense at headquarters to mount them, it won’t be very long.” “Long enough to tear you in pieces, as they are more than ready to do,” said Louis. “Maybe so; but—well, my young friend, I don’t pretend to be a saint, or an idealist, either,—I believe that’s the new term,—but I never yet have sent any one into danger when I could go myself. Take care of my little girl, both of you. Now, John,” to the servant, “be ready to fasten that door behind me. Look sharp now.” “Hold on, John,” said Louis quietly. “I shall go with Mr. Randolph. They won’t hurt me, and I may be able to help him.” Henry Randolph regarded him sharply. “I fancy you are safe enough,” he said; “both of us know very well who is the ring-leader in this thing. No, I sha’n’t mention his name, now or afterwards, for your sake.”