summarily repaired. The keepsake, still rolled in the

handkerchief, he thrust in the meanwhile into his trousers pocket.

Not many steps beyond the shop he was conscious of a sudden shock,

a hand upon his throat, an infuriated face close to his own, and an

open mouth bawling curses in his ear. The Dictator, having found

no trace of his quarry, was returning by the other way. Francis

was a stalwart young fellow; but he was no match for his adversary

whether in strength or skill; and after a few ineffectual struggles