cautious, and he felt no fear.

The fire of revenge, always smouldering, was almost daily fanned into
flame by real or fancied causes.

Jack went calmly on his way. He regretted the break in their friendship,
but he could not resign Susy. He hoped all things would come out right
at last.

A day came, when, as the engine began to set in motion the innumerable
shafts and wheels and pulleys, which in turn transmitted their mighty
strength over the hundreds of looms,--Dick stood at the end of the row
of machines that were under his charge. His eyes had a strange light in
them and his face was unnaturally pale, and his hands wandered
unmeaningly over the loom nearest him.

A scream reverberated through the shed, above all the clatter of
shuttles and whirr of wheels, and was repeated again, and again. There
was a rush towards one point. The mighty engine stopped with a groan,
and all the wheels were motionless. All the workers had deserted their
posts,--nay,--not all. Dick stood shivering, grasping an iron bar for
support.

Susy, stood confronting him. The look in her wonderful eyes was one that
he had never before seen. No word was spoken. She passed on to join the
throng, and Dick followed like one in a dream.

"Poor Jack!" "poor lad!" was heard on every hand. The crowd divided, and
four strong men bore the battered and bleeding form into the private
office. Dick saw it,--he followed close behind it. Outside the very