powerful exertion of his own will that he did restrain himself from rushing from his bed and attacking the intruder with his naked fists. But, he reflected, the thief or thieves were probably armed; he remembered too that there was no assistance to be obtained in the house itself, and that there was no means of arousing the neighbourhood. And then Lord Hetton's mind, which was a cool one, came to a determination. Very slowly indeed, and perfectly silently, Lord Hetton gradually stretched out his arm from the bed towards the little table upon which his watch had lain; but it was not upon the top of the table that his extended fingers attempted to grasp the object which they sought, but on a ledge several inches beneath. On that ledge lay a loaded six-chamber revolver. His lordship's fingers gradually closed upon the butt of the weapon, gradually and noiselessly he raised it, and with his thumb he proceeded to cock it. There was an ominous click. His lordship sprang from the bed, pistol in hand. The man Parsons started to his feet with equal celerity, and the two men stood glaring at each other. There was an appreciable instance of silence, and each of the adversaries could hear the loud beating of his own heart. "You infernal villain, if you don't surrender, I'll blow your brains out," hissed his lordship. The burglar made no reply, but placed his right hand in his bosom, and in an instant his keen cruel sheath knife was raised high above his head, and without a word, like an infuriated tiger, he rushed upon the sporting nobleman. Lord Hetton pulled the trigger, there was a sharp click, that was all. His lordship swore a bitter oath, as it flashed through his mind that in his excitement of rage and indignation he had forgotten to withdraw the safety catch. There was no time to do it now, for the burglar was upon him. Hetton struck the man furiously in the face with the butt of the pistol, but the thief succeeded in avoiding the full force of the blow, and used his knife with murderous dexterity. The pistol dropped from his lordship's failing hand, each man had the other by the throat, and the thief continued to mercilessly hack and stab, for he knew that he was fighting for liberty, and even life. Gradually he forced his victim down upon the floor, he placed his knee upon his chest, and tightened his cruel grip upon the throat of the fallen man. They still glared at each other and struggled on in horrid silence, but gradually the convulsive clutch of Lord Hetton's fingers relaxed, the glare of rage and hate disappeared from his eyes, and its place was taken by a dull leaden stare. For Lord Hetton was dead.