Poor Mark! And poor, wretched Jim! How utterly guilty and crestfallen they looked! As for the gamblers, they cowered together, in abject terror, not daring to attempt a retreat by the back, lest the enemy should be lurking for them there. "Will you open the door, or will you not?" No answer from within. Then came a tremendous blow; then a foot was seen forcing its way over the doorsill, another moment, and the barrier to the entrance of the invaders gave way with a rattling crash. CHAPTER SEVEN. BITTER FRUIT. No sooner was the door burst open, than in rushed several stout men, who proceeded to seize and handcuff the four strangers, who made but the faintest show of resistance. John Gubbins shook with abject terror, as he tried in vain to double up his fat person into a small compass in a corner. Jim Forbes stood speechless for a moment, and then darted out through the open doorway. As for Mark Rothwell, what with shame and dismay, and semi-intoxication from whisky punch, his position and appearance were anything but enviable. He recovered himself, however, in a few minutes, and turned fiercely on the intruders. "By what right, and by whose authority," he cried, "do you dare to break into my coachman's house, and to lay violent hands on these gentlemen?" "By this warrant, young sir," said the chief of the invading party, producing a parchment. "I'm a detective; I've been looking after these _gentlemen_ a long time; they are part of a regular gang of pickpockets and swindlers, and we've a case or two against 'em as 'll keep 'em at home, under lock and key, for a bit. I'm sorry we've been so rough, but I was afraid of losing 'em. I didn't think to find 'em in such company, and I hope, young gent, if you'll let me give you a word of advice, that you'll keep clear of such as these for the future for your own sake." Alas! Poor Mark! Crestfallen and wretched, he slunk away home. And what had become of Jim Forbes? Nobody knew at "The Firs." He was missing that night and the next day. Mr Rothwell asked for him at breakfast, and was told that he had not slept in the house the night before, and was nowhere to be found. The day passed away, but Jim did not make his appearance. It was a dark November evening: a dim light twinkled through the casement of Mrs Forbes' cottage: the wind was whistling and sighing mournfully, sometimes lulling for a while, and then rising and rushing through crack and crevice with a wild complaining moan. Inside that little dwelling were weeping eyes and aching hearts. Upstairs all was peace; four little children lay fast asleep in the inner chamber, twined in each other's ruddy arms, their regular breathing contrasting, in its deep peace, with the fitful sighings of the wind; yet on the long eyelashes of one of the little sleepers there stood a glistening tear, and from the parted lips there came, now and again, the words, "Brother Jim."