As when of old a reputable goddess _ex machina_ saw her favorite hero in dire peril, straightway she drew down a cloud from the celestial stores of Jupiter and enveloped her fondling in kindly night, so that his adversary strove with the darkness, so did Crowl, the cunning cobbler, the much-daring, essay to insure his friend's safety. He turned off the gas at the meter.
An Arctic night--unpreceded by twilight--fell, and there dawned the sabbath of the witches. The darkness could be felt--and it left blood and bruises behind it. When the lights were turned on again, Mortlake was gone. But several of the rioters were arrested, triumphantly.
And through all, and over all, the face of the dead man who had sought to bring peace on earth, brooded.
Crowl sat meekly eating his supper of bread and cheese, with his head bandaged, while Denzil Cantercot told him the story of how he had rescued Tom Mortlake. He had been among the first to scale the height, and had never budged from Tom's side or from the forefront of the battle till he had seen him safely outside and into a by-street.
[Illustration: Crowl sat meekly eating his supper of bread and cheese.]
"I am so glad you saw that he got away safely," said Crowl, "I wasn't quite sure he would."
"Yes; but I wish some cowardly fool hadn't turned off the gas. I like men to see that they are beaten."
"Easier!" echoed Denzil, taking a deep draught of bitter. "Really, Peter, I'm sorry to find you always will take such low views. It may be easier, but it's shabby. It shocks one's sense of the Beautiful."
Crowl ate his bread and cheese shame-facedly.
"But what was the use of breaking your head to save him?" said Mrs. Crowl with an unconscious pun. "He must be caught."
"Ah, I don't see how the Useful does come in, now," said Peter thoughtfully. "But I didn't think of that at the time."
He swallowed his water quickly and it went the wrong way and added to his confusion. It also began to dawn upon him that he might be called to account. Let it be said at once that he wasn't. He had taken too prominent a part.
Meantime, Mrs. Wimp was bathing Mr. Wimp's eye, and rubbing him generally with arnica. Wimp's melodrama had been, indeed, a sight for the gods. Only, virtue was vanquished and vice triumphant. The villain had escaped, and without striking a blow.