better results than in the past.  Some of the men were

    recognized, and there is hope that a conviction may be

    obtained.  The source of the outrage was, it need hardly be

    said, that infamous society which has held this community

    in bondage for so long a period, and against which the

    Herald has taken so uncompromising a stand.  Mr. Stanger’s

    many friends will rejoice to hear that, though he has been

    cruelly and brutally beaten, and though he has sustained

    severe injuries about the head, there is no immediate danger

    to his life.

Below it stated that a guard of police, armed with Winchester rifles, had been requisitioned for the defense of the office.

McMurdo had laid down the paper, and was lighting his pipe with a hand which was shaky from the excesses of the previous evening, when there was a knock outside, and his landlady brought to him a note which had just been handed in by a lad.  It was unsigned, and ran thus: 

    I should wish to speak to you, but would rather not do so

    in your house.  You will find me beside the flagstaff upon

    Miller Hill.  If you will come there now, I have something

    which it is important for you to hear and for me to say.

McMurdo read the note twice with the utmost surprise; for he could not imagine what it meant or who was the author of it.  Had it been in a feminine hand, he might have imagined that it was the beginning of one of those adventures which had been familiar enough in his past life.  But it was the writing of a man, and of a well educated one, too.  Finally, after some hesitation, he determined to see the matter through.

Miller Hill is an ill-kept public park in the very centre of the town.  In summer it is a favourite resort of the people; but in winter it is desolate enough.  From the top of it one has a view not only of the whole straggling, grimy town, but of the winding valley beneath, with its scattered mines and factories blackening the snow on each side of it, and of the wooded and white-capped ranges flanking it.

McMurdo strolled up the winding path hedged in with evergreens until he reached the deserted restaurant which forms the centre of summer gaiety.  Beside it was a bare flagstaff, and underneath it a man, his hat drawn down and the collar of his overcoat turned up.  When he turned his face McMurdo saw that it was Brother Morris, he who had incurred the anger of the Bodymaster the night before.  The lodge sign was given and exchanged as they met.

“I wanted to have a word with you, Mr. McMurdo,” said the older man, speaking with a hesitation which showed that he was on delicate ground.  “It was kind of you to come.”

“Why did you not put your name to the note?”

“One has to be cautious, mister.  One never knows in times like these how a thing may come back to one.  One never knows either who to trust or who not to trust.”