The uncouth countenances of the men and women can be studied in intermittent flashes as they pass under the strong glare of the lights. The utter absence of men and women of gentility makes the procession seem like the invasion of the Huns into the Empire. Among the thousands there are descendants of those very men who made the legions of Rome flee in terror. The torch of progress is again in the hands of the uncultured, and as history proves the race is to undergo another evolution. That it is to be effected by internecine revolution none doubts. The march of carnage is on. Whither will it tend? A leader of genius is wanted. The plastic emotions of the multitude will yield to his command. Already the peaceable character of the visitation of the humble to the habitation of the haughty, has changed to one of violence. O'Neil has been able to create the storm, but he lacks the capacity to direct it. The man of might has stepped forward and has been hailed as chief. Just as the body of Purdy is to be brought down the terrace the sound of distant cheering is heard. It comes from the direction of the bridge. The men who have hold of the millionaire's body, drop it. Do the shouts come from the militia? With ever-increasing magnitude the cheering continues. Whatever the object may be, it is approaching the palace. A reflex movement in the crowds indicates that danger is upon them. "It's the Pinkertons!" is the terror-stricken cry that arises. CHAPTER XXIX. PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES. Now the shouting swells into a general outburst of enthusiasm. "Trueman! Trueman!" are the words that reach the ears of the men at the foot of the terrace. It is not the militia then, that is swooping down upon the people to crush them for demanding the body of their dead; it is not the Pinkertons. It is the champion of the people come to their aid! Breathless from the three miles he has traversed at a run, Trueman sinks exhausted on the stone steps in front of Purdy's house. The excited leaders cluster about him and tell him of the events that have transpired during the afternoon and early evening. "It was four o'clock when we first heard that Metz had shot and killed Purdy. The news spread to all the mills and furnaces," explains Chester, one of the yard hands of the local depot. "Some one started the story that the police had been instructed to bury Metz secretly for fear there would be trouble if he was given a public funeral. You know there was a note found on him which said he had killed Purdy for the good of the workingmen." "Yes," breaks in O'Neil, "the folks all over town said they were bound to see Metz given decent burial. A committee came to me and asked if I would head a procession to come here and demand the body. We came and were refused it. Then we broke into the house and got Metz's body. "Some one started the cry, 'Find Purdy's body and bury it in Potter's field!' This set the crowd crazy. I could not prevent their seizing it."