As soon as the woman had gone, under Blythe's escort, to join the mail, Hector thought the matter over.
To discover the assassin now was impossible. Two alternatives faced him if he was to save his life: One, to order the meeting cancelled; two, to stay away.
To cancel the meeting at this stage would be useless. The crowd would insist on holding it, defying the law. The fat would then be in the fire. To stay away would be a confession of weakness, after the declaration that he would attend. Moreover, Lancaster could not handle the crowd alone.
He must either betray his trust, let down the country when he was needed most, or—face practically certain death.
He had a very short time in which to make his decision—a decision that was so momentous.
Now he must be truly 'Spirit-of-Iron'! To face death in cold blood, not in battle, but at the hands of an unknown assassin—to sacrifice life on the gory altar of Duty—that was what he was required to do.
Blow on blow—trial on trial—racking him—scourging him——
The night was dark—very, very dark.
III
At seven o'clock the Rev. Mr. Northcote, strangely excited, came over to Hector, demanding his immediate attendance at the parson's quarters.