Blind Love

Afterwards the station-master remembered those words. Lord Harry did

not say "I will call for it," but "It will be called for." Ominous

words.

The weather was cold; a drizzling rain fell; the day was drawing in.

Lord Harry left the station, and started with quick step along the

road, which stretched across a dreary desolate piece of country.

The two men walked after him. One presently quickened his step, leaving

the second man twenty yards behind.

The station-master looked after them till he could see them no longer.

Then he shook his head and returned to his office.

Lord Harry walking along the road knew that the two men were following

him. Presently he became aware that one of them was quickening his

pace.

He walked on. Perhaps his cheeks paled and his lips were set close,

because he knew that he was walking to his death.

The steps behind him approached faster--faster. Lord Harry never even

turned his head. The man was close behind him. The man was beside him.

"Mickey O'Flynn it is," said Lord Harry.

"'Tis a ---- traitor, you are," said the man.

"Your friends the Invincibles told you that, Mickey. Why, do you think

I don't know, man, what are you here for? Well?" he stopped. "I am

unarmed. You have got a revolver in your hand--the hand behind your

back. What are you stopping for?"

"I cannot," said the man.

"You must, Mickey O'Flynn--you must; or it's murdered you'll be

yourself," said Lord Harry, coolly. "Why, man, 'tis but to lift your

hand. And then you'll be a murderer for life. I am another--we shall

both be murderers then. Why don't you fire, man."

"By ---- I cannot!" said Mickey. He held the revolver behind him, but

he did not lift his arm. His eyes started: his mouth was open; the

horror of the murderer was upon him before the murder was committed.

Then he started. "Look!" he cried. "Look behind you, my lord!"

Lord Harry turned. The second man was upon him. He bent forward and

peered in his face.

"Arthur Mountjoy's murderer!" he cried, and sprang at his throat.

One, two, three shots rang out in the evening air. Those who heard them

in the roadside cabin, at the railway-station on the road, shuddered.

They knew the meaning of those shots. One more murder to load the soul

of Ireland.

But Lord Harry lay dead in the middle of the road.

The second man got up and felt at his throat.