’No, ‘pon honour it is not!’ my lord agreed.  And then, feeling a little recovered, ‘Dunborough,’ he asked, ‘what are they doing?’

‘Hanging you, my dear fellow!’ the other answered from the window, where he had taken his place within a pace of Soane, but without discovering him.  He spoke in the full boisterous tone of one in perfect health and spirits, perfectly satisfied with himself, and perfectly heedless of others.

‘Oh, I say, you are joking?’ my lord answered.  ’Hanging me?  Oh, ah!  I see.  In effigy!’

‘And your humble servant,’ said Mr. Dunborough.  ’I tell you, Tommy, we had a near run for it.  Curse their impudence, they made us sweat.  For a very little I would give the rascals something to howl for.’

Perhaps he meant no more than to put a bold face on it before his creatures.  But unluckily the rabble, which had come provided with a cart and gallows, a hangman, and a paunchy, red-faced fellow in canonicals, and which hitherto had busied itself with the mock execution, found leisure at this moment to look up at the window.  Catching sight of the object of their anger, they vented their rage in a roar of execration, so much louder than all that had gone before that it brought the sentence which Mr. Thomasson was uttering to a quavering end.  But the demonstration, far from intimidating Mr. Dunborough, provoked him to fury.  Turning from the sea of brandished hands and upturned faces, he strode to a table, and in a moment returned.  The window was open, he flung it wider, and stood erect, in full view of the mob.

The sight produced a momentary silence, of which he took advantage.  ‘Now, you tailors, begone!’ he cried harshly.  ’To your hovels, and leave gentlemen to their wine, or it will be the worse for you.  Come, march!  We have had enough of your fooling, and are tired of it.’

The answer was a shout of ‘Cain!’ and ‘Murderer!’ One voice cried ‘Ferrers!’ and this caught the fancy of the crowd.  In a moment a hundred were crying, ‘Ay, Ferrers!  Come down, and we’ll Ferrers you!’

He stood a moment irresolute, glaring at them; then something struck and shattered a pane of the window beside him, and the fetid smell of a bad egg filled the room.  At the sound Mr. Thomasson uttered a cry and shrank farther into the darkness, while Lord Almeric rose hastily and looked about for a refuge.  But Mr. Dunborough did not flinch.

‘D——­n you, you rascals, you will have it, will you?’ he cried; and in the darkness a sharp click was heard.  He raised his hand.  A shriek in the street below answered the movement; some who stood nearest saw that he held a pistol and gave the information to others, and there was a wild rush to escape.  But before the hammer dropped, a hand closed on his, and Soane, crying, ‘Are you mad, sir?’ dragged him back.

Dunborough had not entertained the least idea that any one stood near him, and the surprise was as complete as the check.  After an instinctive attempt to wrench away his hand, he stood glaring at the person who held him.  ‘Curse you!’ he said.  ‘Who are you?  And what do you mean?’