Half an hour had passed away in this manner, when a strange noise startled Walter in the midst of her meditations. She thought that she heard a shutter close violently and a pane of glass smash to pieces almost at the same moment. Alarm was for an instant depicted upon her countenance: she then smiled, and, ashamed of the evanescent fear to which she had yielded, said to herself, "It must be one of the shutters of the dining-room or parlour down stairs, that has blown open." Taking the lamp in her hand she issued from the boudoir, and hastily descended the stairs leading to the ground floor. In her way thither she could hear, even amidst the howling of the wind, the loud barking of the dogs in the rear of the villa. The hall, as she crossed it, struck piercing cold, after the genial warmth of the boudoir which she had just left. She cautiously entered the parlour on the left hand of the front door: all was safe. Having satisfied herself that the shutters in that apartment were securely closed and fastened, she proceeded to the dining-room. She opened the door, and was about to cross the threshold, when--at that moment--the lamp was dashed from her hand by some one inside the room; and she herself was instantly seized by two powerful arms, and dragged into the apartment. A piercing cry issued from her lips; and then a coarse and hard hand was pressed violently on her mouth. Further utterance was thus stopped. "Here--Bill--Dick," said a gruff voice; "give me a knife--I must settle this feller's hash--or I'm blessed if he won't alarm the house." "No more blood--no more blood!" returned another voice, hastily, and with an accent of horror. "I had enough of that this mornin'. Gag him, and tie him up in a heap." "D--n him, do for him!" cried a third voice. "Don't be such a cursed coward, Bill." "Hold your jaw, will ye--and give me a knife, Dick," said the first speaker, who was no other than Tom the Cracksman. "The fellow struggles furious--but I've got hold on him by the throat." Scarcely had these words issued from the lips of the burglar, when the door was thrown open, and Montague entered the room. He held a lamp in one hand, and a pistol in the other; and it was easy to perceive that he had been alarmed in the midst of his repose, for he had nothing on save his trousers and his shirt. On the sudden appearance of an individual thus armed, Tom the Cracksman exclaimed, "At him--down with him! We must make a fight of it." The light of the lamp, which Montague held in his hand, streamed full upon the countenance and person of Walter Sydney, who was struggling violently in the suffocating grasp of the Cracksman.