There was a burst of applause and great stamping of feet; the tide of sympathy had changed. Rowan had perhaps won a few more votes. This pleased him evidently more than his hope of cutting the contract pie. McGaw began to regain some of his color and lose some of his nervousness. Rowan's speech had quieted him. The president gravely rapped for order. It was wonderful how much backbone and dignity and self-respect the justice's very flattering remarks had injected into the nine trustees--no, eight, for the Scotchman fully understood and despised Rowan's oratorical powers. The Scotchman was on his feet in an instant. “I have listened,” he said, “to the talk that Justice Rowan has given us. It's very fine and tonguey, but it smothers up the facts. You can't rob this woman”-- “Question! question!” came from half a dozen throats. “What's your pleasure, gentlemen?” asked the president, pounding with his gavel. “I move,” said the courier member, “that the contract be awarded to Mr. Daniel McGaw as the lowest bidder, provided he can sign the contract to-night with proper bonds.” Four members seconded it. “Is Mr. McGaw's bondsman present?” asked the president, rising. Justice Rowan rose, and bowed with the air of a foreign banker accepting a government loan. “I have that honor, Mr. Prisident. I am willing to back Mr. McGaw to the extent of me humble possissions, which are ample, I trust, for the purposes of this contract”--looking around with an air of entire confidence. “Gentlemen, are you ready for the question?” asked the president. At this instant there was a slight commotion at the end of the hall. Half a dozen men nearest the door left their seats and crowded to the top of the staircase. Then came a voice outside: “Fall back; don't block up the door! Get back there!” The excitement was so great that the proceedings of the board were stopped. The throng parted, The men near the table stood still. An ominous silence suddenly prevailed. Daniel McGaw twisted his head, turned ghastly white, and would have fallen from his chair but for Dempsey. Advancing through the door with slow, measured tread, her long cloak reaching to her feet; erect, calm, fearless; her face like chalk; her lips compressed, stifling the agony of every step; her eyes deep sunken, black-rimmed, burning like coals; her brow bound with a blood-stained handkerchief that barely hid the bandages beneath, came Tom. The deathly hush was unbroken. The men fell back with white, scared faces to let her pass. McGaw cowered in his chair. Dempsey's eyes glistened, a half-sigh of relief escaping him. Crimmins had not moved; the apparition stunned him. On she came, her eyes fixed on the president, till she reached the table. Then she steadied herself for a moment, took a roll of papers from her dress, and sank into a chair.