window of a room, where a brilliant light suspended from the ceiling showed him a group of women clinging together in terror. Others of the crowd were pushing their way up the terrace-steps and gravel-slopes at various points. Hearing the horses, he kept his post in front of the window, and, motioning with his sabre, cried out to the on-comers, "Keep back! I hear the soldiers coming." Some scrambled back, some paused automatically.
The louder and louder sound of the hoofs changed its pace and distribution. "Halt! Fire!" Bang! bang! bang!—came deafening the ears of the men on the terrace.
Before they had time or nerve to move, there was a rushing sound closer to them—again "Fire!" a bullet whizzed, and passed through Felix Holt's shoulder—the shoulder of the arm that held the naked weapon which shone in the light from the window.
Felix fell. The rioters ran confusedly, like terrified sheep. Some of the soldiers, turning, drove them along with the flat of their swords. The greater difficulty was to clear the invaded offices.
The Rector, who with another magistrate and several other gentlemen on horseback had accom-
