not notice Archie Fairfax, who was standing at the office-door as he walked quickly by, just under a newly-lighted lamp.

There was some one else watching too, from under the shadow of a projecting buttress, whom neither Archie nor Timothy perceived. It was Simon Bond—Stephen's bitterest enemy.

Ever since the day when the lad had refused to answer his rude questions, Simon had been on the look-out for his revenge. Twice he had waylaid Stephen, and tried to give him the thrashing he had promised him.

But once Stephen had eluded him by going through a big shop which had an opening on the other side; once some one had come up just as Simon had got his foe into a quiet corner.

It was of no use for him to track Stephen to his home, for he knew how crowded it was in those narrow streets; and though a "row" would probably be a matter of daily occurrence, there was every likelihood that the men who looked on might take the side of their own neighbour against a stranger like Simon.

"But my time'll come yet," he said to himself, "if I wait long enough."

He contented himself, while waiting for the longed-for day of vengeance, with adding what he could to Stephen's load of trouble.

His work was in the same big room, and he took care that Stephen should have the draughtiest corner of it, and be the last to get into the office on pay-day. And he managed that if anything did go wrong, suspicion should fall on Stephen—in which Archie was his unconscious helper. Then, if Stephen ventured to speak while waiting outside for admittance in the morning—which he did very seldom—Simon would repeat his words in a loud, mocking voice, and comment upon them, and turn them into ridicule, till poor Stephen dreaded the sight of him more than of all the other men put together.

"What's up now, I wonder," thought Simon, as he watched Timothy come out and Stephen go in at the little door of the manufactory. "Why, there's Tim Lingard going off right away. Is he gone for the night? I should like to know. If he is, now's my time. I don't suppose the little chap will lock the door, so I'll just slip in while he's going his rounds, and be ready for him when he comes back—that'll all be as easy as sneezing. I'll make it pretty hot, though, for Master Stephen when I've got him."

He went home to his tea; and Stephen, all unconscious of the plots being laid against him, entered the little room where the night-watch sat, and got out his meagre supper, which he had had no time yet to swallow. The room had two doors; one led to the courtyard through which Stephen had entered, and the other, the upper half of which was glass, took into Mr. Fairfax's private office and the larger counting-house beyond, out of which the passages leading to the general workrooms opened.

"I hope the little 'uns 'ull get on all safe for a few nights without me," he said to himself, as he ate his slice of bread. "Polly's so sensible, she'll do all right, if those rackety boys 'ull do as she tells 'em. They promised me they would, but there's no tellin'."

He sat thinking for some time, and then started off on his first round of inspection.

Meanwhile Archie Fairfax had gone home to dinner, his mind full of the proofs he thought he had acquired of Stephen Bennett's untrustworthiness. He said nothing about it, however, until he and his father were left alone after dinner.

"Who's the caretaker at night now, father?" he asked, as he peeled an apple.

"Timothy Lingard," was the answer. "Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, only because he isn't there to-night; so I thought he might have been dismissed."

"Not there to-night! What do you mean, Archie?"

"Why, I saw him come away this evening, just before I came back here, and Stephen Bennett went in instead. I can't say he looks quite the sort of fellow to be in charge of a big place like that all night—a fellow of his habits, too."

"What do you know about his habits?"

"Oh, nothing particular. But, of course, one can't help suspecting there's something wrong about a chap who draws the pay he does, and goes staggering about the streets with his arms full of children's clothes, and his own things looking like a beggar's."

"Do you mean you think the lad drinks, or is dishonest? Speak out, Archie, like a man, and don't throw stones in the dark."

"I don't want to do the fellow any harm," responded Archie, who felt that, in spite of his watching, he knew far too little to speak definitely; "but what I have seen of him I don't like, and that's a fact. I can't help thinking there's something behind. What business has he to be at the mill to-night, when the regular man's away?"

"None at all, of course. Most likely Lingard has gone off on some errand of his own, and paid Bennett to take his place. But it is not regular or right, by any means; I don't like the idea of it at all.... I think I shall go round myself presently, and find out all about it."

By the time Stephen got back from his round it was nearly nine o'clock. He sank into a chair, and leaning his elbows on the table, rested his head in his hands.

"I'm a deal weaker than I was last week," he murmured; "but I must try and last out till father's back. I'll write to him now, and tell him how fast I'm going. If there was any one a bit friendly, I'd tell 'em about it all, and ask 'em to look after the little 'uns if I go quicker; but there isn't. They all seem against me and my rags. I thought Mr. Archie looked so kind at first, but I can see now he thinks worse of me than any."

He got out some sheets of paper he had in his pocket, and pulled the pens and ink on the table towards him.

He did not write very fast, and as he had a good deal to say, he was some time over his letter. About twenty minutes had passed, when the room seemed to get very misty. The pen dropped out of Stephen's hand, and he fell back, with his eyes shut, and his head against the rail of the chair.

He had remained thus, asleep from very weakness, for about an hour, when he was suddenly aroused by a rough voice in his ear.

"Wake up, skulker! your time's come at last."

He opened his eyes, his heart throbbing violently, and there stood the burly form of Simon Bond. He looked bigger than ever in the dimly-lighted room; and as his great grimy face came nearer, and his strong hands grasped Stephen's ear and collar, he felt that his last moment had come, and even sooner than he had expected.

"Get up!" said his enemy, giving him a kick, and dragging him roughly from the chair. "Now," he went on, "I think you refused to answer my questions last time I asked 'em. You'll please to alter your ways from to-night, or you'll get more o' these than you'll quite like."

As he spoke he let go of the lad's collar with his right hand, and brought it swinging down with all his force on the side of Stephen's head.

Instantly the boy dropped like one dead at his feet.

At the same moment the office-door opened, and the appalling sight appeared of Mr. Fairfax's tall form, followed closely by his son Archie.

Not a second did Simon lose. He turned to the door, and was off like a flash of lightning.

Archie made a rush, as though to follow him.

"Cowardly lout!" he cried.

"No; stop, Archie," said his father. "You couldn't catch him; and if you did, you couldn't keep him. We'll examine him to-morrow—we both saw who it was. Now let us look after this poor lad."

"See,