“Don’t set up your authority against mine,” he cried, and as he uttered the words—­half crazed by the brandy he had drunk so copiously—­his clinched fist came down with a heavy blow upon the girl’s beautiful, upturned face, and she fell like one dead at his feet.

CHAPTER VIII.

What happened at midnight on the lonely River road.

For one moment he looked down half stupefied at his work—­the girl lay in a little dark heap at his feet just as he had struck her down—­the crimson blood pouring from a wound on her temple which his ring had caused.

“I—­I’ve killed her,” he muttered, setting his teeth together hard—­“she—­she provoked me to it—­curse her!  My God! the girl is actually dying.”  Then, through his half-dazed brain came the thought that his crime would soon be discovered, and his only safety lay in instant flight.

It was but the work of a moment to hurry from the room, making his way through the inky darkness as best he could to the barroom, where he knew he should find Halloran and the cabby dozing in the big armchairs.

The full realization of his crime had quite sobered him by this time.

The innkeeper had left a dim light in the barroom.  By the aid of this he made his way quickly to his friend’s side.  A few rapid words whispered excitedly in Halloran’s ear told him the condition of affairs.

“You are right,” exclaimed Halloran, springing to his feet.  “We must get out of here without a moment’s delay.  The cabman must go with us, taking his horses, even though we have to pay him the price of them.”

“I—­I—­will leave everything to you, Halloran,” muttered his companion, huskily, “your brain is clearer and a thousand times shrewder than mine.”

“Nor must the girl be left here,” went on Halloran.  “She must not be found dead in this house.”

“Why, what in Heaven’s name could we do with her?” returned the other, sharply.  “I tell you she is dying, any one could see that.”

“Put her effectually out of the way, and past all human possibility of any one finding out how she came by her death.  I have a desperate plan.  I cannot explain it to you now.  All I say is, be guided by my directions to-night—­leave everything to me,” said Halloran, with a grim gaze.

“I put myself in your hands, Halloran,” was the husky reply.

The cabby was hurriedly awakened.  At first he demurred angrily against the idea of starting off again; but when a roll of bank notes was pressed into his hands as the price of his complying with their demand—­a sum that would more than cover the price of the horses if he lost them—­he no longer found grounds for complaint, but agreed with alacrity to do their bidding.

Besides, Halloran knew a little secret of the cabby’s past—­just how he came by the money to buy that outfit—­and as it was done in a particularly shady way, the man dared not make an enemy of him.