Whether he saw what no doubt was true, that every hope was over, and that, once conveyed to Edinburgh, no further mistake was possible, and his fate sealed; or whether he was moved by a swift wave of passion, as happened to him from time to time--and the exasperation of the woman’s voice, which worked him to madness--can never be known. He was still quite free, untouched by any one; but the handcuffs approaching which would make an end of every independent act. His tall figure, and clean-shaven, unveiled face seemed suddenly to rise and tower over every other in the heat and pale glow of passion. “You viper, Liz!” he thundered out. “Music-hall Liz!” with a fierce laugh, “here’s for you--the traitor’s pay!” And before any one could breathe or speak, before a hand could be lifted, there was a sudden flash and report, and in a moment he had flung himself forward upon the two or three startled men in front of him, with a rush for the open door, and the pistol still smoking in his hand. Two steps more, and he would have been out in the open, in the fresh air that breathed like heaven upon him, among the dark trees that give hiding and shelter, and make a man, with his wits about him, a match for any dozen. Two steps more! But rapid as he was, there were too many of them to make such an escape possible. Before he had reached that open way, half-a-dozen men were upon him. The struggle was but for a moment--a wild sudden tumult of stamping feet and loud voices; then there was again a sudden flash and report and fall. The whole band seemed to fall together--the men who had grappled with him being dragged with him to the ground. They gathered themselves up one by one--everybody who could move: and left the one on the ground who would never move again.