All at once he struggled to his feet without assistance, and stood upright, still clasping the body of his child in his arms.
"Come, come!" he said thickly--"It's time we were off, Kiddie! We must get across the moor and into camp.

It's time for all lambs to be in the fold;--time to go to bed, my little lad! Good-night, mates! Good-night! I know you all,--and you all know me--you like fair play! Fair play all round, eh?
Not one law for the rich and another for the poor! Even justice, boys! Justice! Justice!" Here his voice broke in a great and awful cry,--blood sprang from his lips--his face grew darkly purple,--and like a huge tree snapped asunder by a storm, he reeled heavily to the ground.

One of the constables caught him as he fell.
"Hold up, Tom!" he said tremulously, the thick tears standing in his eyes.

"Don't give way! Be a man! Hold up! Steady! Here, let me take the poor Kiddie!" For a ghastly pallor was stealing over Tom's features, and his lips were widely parted in a gasping struggle for breath.
"No--no!--don't take my boy!" he muttered feebly.

"Let me--keep him--with me! God is good--good after all!--we shall not--be parted!" A strong convulsion shook his sinewy frame from head to foot, and he writhed in desperate agony.