The man was beside him.
"Mickey O'Flynn it is," said Lord Harry.
"'Tis a ---- traitor, you are," said the man.
"Your friends the Invincibles told you that, Mickey. Why, do you think
I don't know, man, what are you here for? Well?" he stopped. "I am
unarmed. You have got a revolver in your hand--the hand behind your
back. What are you stopping for?"
"I cannot," said the man.
"You must, Mickey O'Flynn--you must; or it's murdered you'll be
yourself," said Lord Harry, coolly. "Why, man, 'tis but to lift your
hand. And then you'll be a murderer for life. I am another--we shall
both be murderers then. Why don't you fire, man."
"By ---- I cannot!" said Mickey. He held the revolver behind him, but
he did not lift his arm. His eyes started: his mouth was open; the
horror of the murderer was upon him before the murder was committed.
Then he started. "Look!" he cried. "Look behind you, my lord!"
Lord Harry turned. The second man was upon him. He bent forward and
peered in his face.
"Arthur Mountjoy's murderer!" he cried, and sprang at his throat.
One, two, three shots rang out in the evening air. Those who heard them
in the roadside cabin, at the railway-station on the road, shuddered.
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