“There is no use in saying anything to excite a woman further when she is in such a state of mind, but—­” Then he paused significantly.

“You think the chances of his keeping his eyesight are poor?” said Robert.

“Mighty poor,” replied the doctor.

Robert stood still, with his pale, shocked face bent upon the carpet.  He could not seem to comprehend at once the enormity of it all; his mind was grasping at and trying to assimilate the horrible fact with an infinite pain.

“Have they got the man that did it?” asked the doctor.

“I don’t know.  I had to see to poor Risley,” replied Robert.  “I hope to God they have.”  Then all at once he thought, with keen anxiety, of Ellen.  Who knew what new tragedy had happened?  “I must go back to the factory,” he said, hurriedly.  “I will be back here in an hour or so, and see how he is getting on.  For Heaven’s sake, do all you can!”

Robert was desperately impatient to be back at the factory.  He was full of vague anxiety about Ellen.  He could not forget that the shot which had hit poor Risley had been meant for her, and he remembered the look on the man’s face as he aimed.  He found a carriage at the street corner, and jumped in, and bade the man drive fast.

When Robert entered the great building, and felt the old vibration of machinery, he had a curious sensation, one which he had never before had and which he had not expected.  For the first time in his life he knew what it was to have a complete triumph of his own will over his fellow-men.  He had gotten his own way.  All this army of workmen, all this machinery of labor, was set in motion at his desire, in opposition to their own.  He realized himself a leader and a conqueror.  He went into the office, and Flynn and Dennison came forward, smiling, to greet him.

“Well,” said Dennison, “we’re off again.”  He spoke as if the factory were a ship which had been launched from a shoal.

“Yes,” replied Robert, gravely.

Nellie Stone, at the desk, was glancing around, with a half-shy, half-coquettish look.

“How is Mr. Risley?” asked Flynn.

“He is badly hurt,” replied Robert.  “Have they found the man?  Do you know what has been done about it?”

“They’ve got all the police force of the city out,” replied Flynn, “but it’s no use.  They’ll never catch Amos Lee.  His mother was a gypsy, I’ve always heard.  He knows about a thousand ways out of traps, and there’s plenty to help him.  They’ve got Dixon under arrest, and Tom Peel; but they didn’t have any fire-arms on ’em, and they can’t prove anything.  Peel says he’s ready to go back to work.”  Flynn had a somewhat seedy and downcast appearance, although he fought hard for his old jaunty manner.  His impulsive good-nature had gotten the better of his judgment and his own wishes, and he had gone to Mamie Brady and offered to marry her out of hand if she recovered from her attempted