THE LEAVENWORTH MURDER

ANNA KATHEBINE GREEN,

Authoress of

"A Strange Disappearance" and

"The Swokd of Damocles."

BOOK I.—THE FKOBLKM

SIDE-LIGHTS. Oh ! she has beauty mipht ensnare A conqnoror's soul, and mnko him leave

hia crown At random, to bo scuftlod for by slaves. —Otwav,

TnuiD floor, rear room, first door at the head of the stairs ! What was I about to see there ?

Mounting the lower ilight and shuddoring by the library wall, that to my troubled fancy seemed written all over with horrible suggestions, I took my way slowly up stairs, revolving in my mind many things, among which an admonition,uttered long ago by my mother, occupied a.promiuent place.

"My son, remember that a woman with ;i sccyet may be a fascinating study, but she can never be a f afe nor even a satisfactory companion."

A sentence, wise no doubt, but wholly uncalled for under the circumstances ; for certainly I had no intention of especially interesting myself in these women. Vet it continued to haunt me, till the sight of tho door to which 1 had been directed put every other thought to flight save this, tltat I was about to meet the .stricken nieces of a brutally murdcrc I man.

Fausingoi.lv toner enough on the threshold to compose myself for the interview, I lifted my hand lo knock, when a rich clear voice rose from within, and I heard distinctly uttered these words : '• I do not accuse your hand, though I know of none other which would or could have done this; but your heart, your head, your will, those I do and must accu-e in my secret mind at least, and it is well that you should know it."

Struck as if by a blow, I staggered back. Good (!od ! what depths of horror and de pravity were about to open before me I Shuddering and sick, I cowered there, my hands over my ears, when suddenly I felt a touch on my arm,, and turning, saw Mr. Gryco standing close beside me with his linger on his lip, and the last flickering shadow of a Hying emotion failing from his steady, almost compassionate counten ance.

"Come, come," whispered he; "I see you don't begin to know what kind of a world you have got into. House your self ; remember they are waiting down be low."

"But who is it? Who was it that spoke ?" " That we -shall soon see !" exclaimed he shortly. And without waiting to meet, much lers answer my appealing look, he struck his hand against the door, and Hung it wide open.

Instantly a flush of loveliest colour bti'st upon us. Blue curtains, blue carpets, blue walls. It was like a ulimpso of azure heaven let unexpectedly into the depths of a gloomy prison. Fascinated by the splendour before me, and drawn almost from myself by the suddenness of the vision, 1 stepped impetuously forward, but instantly paused airain, overcome and impressed by the exquisite picture which opened before inc.

(Seated in an easy chair of embroidered satin, but rousing from her half recumbent position, like one who was in tho net of launrhing a powerful invective, 1 beheld a glorious woman. Fair, palp, proud, deli cate ; looking like a lily in the thick creamy tinted wrapper that alternately clung to and swayed from her richly moulded figure ; with her grecinn front crowned with the palest of rale tresses, lifted and flashing ■with power ; one ijuivoring hand clasping the arm of her cbair, the other outstretched and pointing toward some distant object ia the room,—her whole appearance was so splendid, so .startling, so extraordinary, that I held my breath in surprise, actually for the moment doubting if it were a living woman 1 behold, or some famous pythoness conjured up from ancient story, to express in one tremendous gesture the supremo indignation of outraged womanhood.

"Miss Mary Leaveuworth,""whispered that ever present voice over my shoulder. Ah ! Mary Loavenworth I and I felt a sudden thrill of relief. This beautiful crea ture, then, was not the Kleauorc who could load, aim, and lire a pistol. Turning my head, I followed the guiding of that uplifted hand, now frozen ioto its place by a new emotion, the emotion of being interrupted in the midst of a direful and pregnant revelation, and saw—but no, here descrip tion fails mo ; Eleanore Leavonworth must be painted by other hands than mine. I could sit half the day and dilate upon the subtle grace, the pale magnificence, the ■perfection of form and feature which make Mary Leavcnworth the wonder of all who behold her, but Eleanore—l could as booh paint tho beatings of my own heart. Be guiling, terrible, grand, pathetic, that face o£ faces flashed upon my gaze, andj'nstantly the moonlight loveliness of her cousin faded from my memory, and I saw only Eleanore —only Eleanore from that moment on for ever.

When my glance first fell upon her, she was standing by the side of a small table with her face tutned toward her cousin, and lier two hands resting, the one upon her breast, the other on the table, in an attitude ofantagoniam. But before the sudden pang which shot tbrouulune at the sight ot her beauty, had subsided, her head had turned, lier gaze had encoun'cred mine ; all the horror of the situation had burst upon her, and instead ot: a haughty woman drawn up to receive and trample upon the insinuations of another, I behold, alas! a trembling, panting human creature, conscious that a sword hung above her head, and without a word to say why it should not fall and slay her.

It was a pitiable change ; a heart-rending revelation. I turned from it as from a con fession. But just then, her cousin, who had apparently regained her self-possession at the first betrayal of emotion on the part of the other, stepped forward, and holding out her hand, inquired,

"Is not this Mr Raymond? How kind of you, sir. And you?" turning to Mr Gryce ; "you have come to tell us we arc wanted below, is it not so ?"

It was the voice I had heard through the door, but modulated to a sweet, winning, almost caressing tone. Glancing hastily at Mr Gryce, I looked to see how he was allected by it. Evidently much, for the bow with which he greeted her words was lower than ordinary, and the smile with which he met her earnest look, both deprecatory and reassnrin;?. He did not look towards her cousin, thongh her deathly conscious eyes were fixed upon his face with an inquiry in their depths, more agonizing than the utterance of any cry TV ould have been. Knowing Mr Gryce aa

1 did, I felt that nothing could promise worse.or he more significant, than tiiis aame transparent disregard of one who seemed to fill the room with her terror. And struck with pity, I forgot that Mary Leavenworth had spoken, forgot her very presence in fact, and turning hastily away, took one step towards her cousin, when Mr Gryce's hand falling on my arm, stopped mo. " Miss Lcavenworth speaks." said he. Recalled to myself, I turned my back upon what had so interested me even while it repelled, and forcing myself to make some sort of reply to the fair creature before me, offered my arm and led her towards the door. Immediately the pale proud countenance of Mary Leavenworth softened almost to the poiutof nulling : -and here let me say, there never was a woman who could smile and not smile like Mary Leavenworth. Looking in my face with a frank and sweet appeal m her eyes, she murmured, " You arc very good. I do not feel the need of support, the occasion is so horrible, and my cousin there,"—here a little gleam ilickcred into her eyes—"is so very strange to day." "Humph ! " thought I to myself, "where is the grand indigoant pytbouess with the unspeakable wrath and menace in her countenance, whom I saw when I lirst cntcrod the room 2 " Could it be that she was trying to beguile us from our conjec tures, by making light of her former expressions? Or was it possible that she h;ul deceived herself so far as to believe us unimpressed by the weighty accusation overheard hy us at a moment so critical. But Eleanoro Leaven worth, leaning on the arm of the detective, noon absorbed all my attention. She had regained in a man ner ulso, by this time, her se.l[-pr»se<Bioii, but not so entirely as her cousin. Her stop faltered as she endeavoured to walk, ami the hand which rested on In* arm trembled like a leaf. "Would (o Gpcl 1 had never entO'cd this house," said Ito myself. And yet, before tho exclamation was half uttered, 1 beenme conscious of a secret re bellion against the thought, an emotion, shall I say, of thankfulness, that T and not another, was the one to break in upon their privacy, overbear that significant remark, and, shall I acknowledge it, follow Mr Uryce and the trembling, swaying iigure of Eleanore Leavenwoith down stairs. Not that I felt the least relenting in my boul towards guilt. Crime had never looked so black; revenge, selfishness, hatred, cupidity, never seemed more loathsome, and yet—but why enter into tho consideration of ray feelings at that time. They cannot be of interest ; besides, who can fathom (he depths of his own soul, or untangle for others the secret cords (if repulsion and at traction, which are and over have boon a mystery and wonder to himself. Enough, that supporting upon my arm the clinging, half fainting form of one woman, but with my attention and interest with another, I descended the stairs of the Lenveuworth mansion, and entered again the dreaded presence of those inquisitors of the law, who had been so impatiently awaiting us. An I once more crossed that threshold, and faced the eager countenance.? of those I had left so short a time before, I felt as if ages had elapsed in tho interval, so much can a human soul experience in the short space of a few over-weighted moments.

MARY LEAVENWORTH.

For this rolicf much thanks.

—Hamlet. HAVE you over observed the ellect of (lie sunlight bunting suddenly upon 'he earth from behind a niaas of heavily surcharged clouds? If so, you can have some idem of the sensation produced in that room by the euttnnccof these two beautiful Indies. Pos sessed of a loveliness that would have been conspicuous in all places and under all cir cumstances, Mary at least, if not her less striking, though by no means less interesting cousin, could never have entered any assem blage without drawing to herself the won dering attention of all present, i'ut heralded as lieiti by the most fearful of tragedies, what could you expect from a collection of men such as I have already decribed but overmastering wonder and incredulous admiration? Nothing, perhaps, and jet at the first murmuring sound of amazement and satisfaction, I felt my soul iccoil in disgust. Making haste to scat my now trembling companion in the most retired spot 1 could find, i looked around for her cousin. But Elcanore Leavcnworth, weak as she had appeared in the interview above, showed at this moment neither hesitation nor embarrassment. Ad vanciug upon the arm of the detective, whose suddenly |a«sumed air of persuasion, in the presence of the jury, was any thins,' but reassuring, Bhe stood for an iustant gazing calmly on the scene before her. Then bowing to the coroner with a grace and condescension that seemed at once to place him on the footing of a politely endured intruder in this homo of elegance, she took the seats which her own servants hastcofd to procure for her, with an ease and dignity that rather recalled the triumphs of the drawing-room, than tbe self-consciousness of a scene such as that in whMi we were. Palpable acting though this was, it was not without its ettcct. Instantly the murmurs ceased, the obtrusive .glances fell, and something like a forced respect made itself visible upon the counte nances of all present. Even 1, impressed as I had been by her very different demeanour in the room above, experienced a sensation of relief; and was more than startled when upon turning to the lady at my side, I beheld her eyes riveted upon her cousin with an inquiry in their depths that was anything but encouraging. Fearful of the effect this look might have upon us, I hastily seized her liaud which,eleuched and unconscious, hung over the edge of her chair, and was about 10 beseech her to have care, when her name, called in a slow im pressive way by the coroner, roused her from her abstraction. Hurriedly, withdraw ing her gaze from her cousin, she lifted her face to the jury, and I saw a gleam pass over it that brought bnck my early fancy of the pythoness. But it passed, and it was with an expression of groat modesty that she settled herself to respond to the demand of the coroner, and answer the first few opening enquiries. But what can express the anxiety of the moment to me? Gentle as she now appearcdjshe was capable of great wrath.as I knew. "Was she going to re-iterate her suspicions hero ? Did she hate as well aR mistrust her cousin? Would she dare assert in his presence and before the world, what she found it so easy to utter in the privacy of her own room and the hearing of the one person concerned 1 Did she wish to ? Her own countenance gave me no clue to her intentions, and in my anxiety, I turned once more to look at Eleanore. But she, in a dread and apprehension I could easily understand, had recoiled at the iirst intimation that her cousin was to speak,and now sat with her face covered from fight by hands that were blanched to an almost deathly whiteness. The "testimony of Mary Leavenworth was shorty After some few questions, mostly referring to her position in the house and her. connection with its deceased master.she was asked to relate what she knew of th

murder itself, and of its discovery by her cousin and the servants. Lifting up a brow that seemed never to have known till now the shadow of care or trouble, and a voice that whilst low and womanly, rang like a bell through the room, she replied : "You ask me, gentlemen, a question which I cannot answer of my own personal knowledge. I know nothing of this murder nor of its discovery, save what has come to mo through the lips of others." My heart gave a bound of relief and I saw Eleanore Lcavenwoth's hands drop from her brow like stone, while a flickering gleam as of hope fled over her face and then died away like sunlight leaving marble. "For strange as it may seem to you," Mary earnestly continued, the shadow of a past horror revisiting her countenance, " I did not enter the room where myunclc lay. I did not oven think of doing so ; my only impulse was to fly from what was so hor rible and heart-rending. But Eleanore wont in and she can tell you—" "We will question Miss Eleanore Leavenworth later," interrupted the coro ner, but very gently for him. Evidently the grace and elegance of this sweet woman were making their impression. " What we want to know is what you saw. You say then that you cannot tell us of anything that passed in the room at the time of the discovery ?" " No, sir." " Only what occurred in tho hall ?" "Nothing occurred in the hall," she re marked innocently. "Did not the servants pass in from the hall, and .your cousin erne out there, after her revival from the fainting fit that over came her at the first sight of her nncle ?" Mary Lenvenworth's violet eyes opened wondcringly. '' Y<;.s, sir ; hut that was nothing." "You remember, however, that she did oomo out into tho hall ?" " Yes, sir." "With a paper in her hand?" " Paper ?" and she wheeled suddenly and looked ;>t her cousin. "Did you cave a paper, Eleanore ?" The moment was intense. Eleanore Leavenworth, who at the iirst mention of the word paper had started perceptibly. rosn to her feet at this naiVe appeal, and opening her lips seemed about to speak, when the coroner, with a strict sense of what was regular, lifted his hand with de cision and said, " Yon need not ask your cons;n, Miss ; but let us hear what you have to say your self." Immediately Eleanore Loavenworth sank back, a pink spot breaking out on either check ; while a slight murmur testified to the disappointment of those in the room, who wero more anxious to have their curiosity gratified, than the forms of Jaw adhered to. Satisfied with having clone his fluty, and disposed to bo easy with so charming a wit ness, the coroner repeated his question. " Tell us, if you plcase,if you saw any such tiling in her hand." "1 ? O, no, no; I saw nothing." Being now questioned in relation'to the events of the previous night, she had no new light to throw upon the subject. She ncknowlcdged that her nncle was perhaps a little reserved at dinner, but no more so than anyone might be, who was not per fectly well, or who had any ordinary care or anxiety upon his mind. AsKed if she had seen her uncle again that evening, she said no, thatsbe had been detained in her room, That the sight of him sitting in his seat at the head of the table, wiiß the very last remembrance she had of him. There was something so touching, !>o for lorn, and yet so unobtrusive in this simple recollection of hers, that a look of sympathy passed slowly round the room. I even de tected Mr Grycc softening towards the ink stand, But Eleanore Leavenworth sat un moved. " Was your uncle on ill terms with any one ? " was now asked. " Had he valuable papers or secret sums of money in his possession ?" To all these inquiries she returned an equal negative. " Has your nncle met any stranger lately, or received any important letter during the last few weeks, that might seem in any way lo*throw light upon this mystery ?" There was not the slightest perceptible hesitation in her voice as she replied : " No, not to my knowledge; I don't know of any such." But here stealing a side "lance at Eleanore, she evidently saw something that reassured her, for she hastened to add— " I believe I may go further than that, and say positively no. My uncle was in tho habit of confiding in me, and I should have known if anything of importance to him had occurred." Questioned in regard to Hannah, she gave thnt person the best of characters; knew of nothing which could have led either to her strange disappearance, or her connec tion with crime. Could not say whether she kopt any company or had any visitors, only knew that no one with any such pre tensions came to the house. Finally,when asked when she had last seen the pistol which Mr Leavenworth always kept in his stand drawer, she returned, not since the day lie bought it, Eleanore, and not herself, having the charge of her uncle's apartments. It was the only thing she had said which, even to a mind freighted like mine, would seem to point to any private doubt or secret suspicion, and this uttered in tho careless manner in which it was, would have passed without comment, if Eleanore her self had not directed at that moment a very much aroused and inquiring look upon tbe speaker. But it was time for tho inquisitive juror to make himself heard again. Edging to the brink of his chair, he drew in his breath willy a vague awe of Mary's bsauty, almost ludicrous to sec, and asked if she had properly considered what she had just said. " 1 hope, sir, I consider all that I say at such a time as this," was her earnest reply. The little juror drew back, and I looked to see her examination terminate, when suddenly his ponderous colleague of the watch chain, catching tho young lady's eye, inquired, " Miss Leavenworth, did your uncle ever make a will ?" Instantly every man in the room was in arms, and even she could not prevent the slow blush o£ injured pride from springing to her check. But her answer was given lirnily and without any show of resent ment. " Yes, sir, " she returned simply, " More than one ?" " I never heard of but one." " Are you acquainted with the contents of that will?" " I am. He made no secret of his inten tions to anyone." The juryman lifted his eye-glass and looked at her. Her grace was little to him, her beauty or her elegance. "Perhaps, then, you can tell me who is the one most likely to be benefittcd by hia death ?" The brutality of this question was too marked to pass unchallenged. Not a man in that room, myself included, but frowned with sudden disapprobation. But Mary Lcavenworth, drawing herself up, looked her interlocutor calmly in the face, and re strained herself to say, " I know who would he the greatest lo3ers by iU The children he took to his bosom in

their helplessness and sorrow; the young girls he enshrined with the halo of his love and protection, when love and protection were what their immaturity most de manded ; the women who looked to him for guidance when childhood and youth were passed—these, sir, these are the ones to whom his death is a loss, in comparison to which all other Josses which may come to them must ever seem trivial and unimpor tant." . i It was a noble Teply .to the basest,of in sinuation*, and the juryman drew Back re buked ; but here' another of" theiri, brie' who had not spoken before, but whose appear ance was not only superior to thp rent, but also almost imposing io its gravity, leaned from his seat arid in a solemn voice said, "Mits Leavenworth, the Truman mind cannot help forming impressions. Now have you, with or without-reason, felt at any time a suspicion as to who the murdetcr of your uncle might bo ?" It was a frightful moment. To me and to one other, I am sure it was not only fright ful but agonizing! Wouldhercourage fail ? would hcrdetermination to shield ber cousin remain firm in tho face of duty and at the call of probity ? I dared not hope it,' j But Mary Leavenwortb, rising to her feet, looked judge and jury calmly in the face, and, without raising her voice, giving it an indescribably clear and sharp detona tion, replied,— " No; I have neither suspicion nor reason for any. The assassin of my uncle is not only entirely unknown to, but completely unuspected by me." It was like the removal of. a stifling pres sure. Amid a universal outgoing of the breath, Mary Leavenworth stood aside and Eleanore was called in her place. (To be continued.)

A Prodigal Son.

The old Scriptural story of tbe Prodigal is not always verified m actual experience. A young man who was anxious to sec the world ran away from home, and for three weeks enjoyed the romance of the thing hugely. Curiously enough, however, his friends and his money gave out at the same time—a fact which is corroborated in the experience of many others. At last he came to the conclusion, since he could not go anywhere else, to go home again. Per haps visions of a strictly Biblical reception crossed his mind, and he may have imagined a large party in commemoration or his arrival. His experience must have been a little peculiar in this direction, for when a friend met him some days after, and anxiously inquired, " Was your father glad to see you John? " he answered, " Well, I had rather a warm reception." " And did he kill tho fatted calf?" "No, but he came pretty near killing the prodigal instead."

A Smart Girl.

Ok of the judges of the assizes some time ago, happened to call on a friend some dis tance from Heading, where the assize was held, and not knowing Ids way back, was quietly jogging along, when he fell in with a buxom girl of twenty, and inquired of her if she knew where be should turn off to go to Reading. "Certainly," said she, "I kuow every inch of the way, and can guide you." "Well," said the judge, who was not a little eccentric, and withal somewhat renowned for his grufliiess and coarseness of manners, "if you are going that way I will c'en jog on wich you, for poor company is better than none." They did jog on, entered into conversation.and had a pleasant time of it, which had the effect of destroy ing the consciousness of distance. At length the judge felt that t was time to have arrived at the point where she said he must turn off, which at the time of his inquiry she stated about two miles. " Madam," said he, "have we got near the place lam to turn off?" "La, yes," she said, " we passed it about a mile and a half back." " You hussy I" said the judge, "why didn't you tell me?" "Oh, sir, the reason I didn't was, that I thought with you, that poor company was better than none."

The Last Letter.

Ox the Ist December, IS7O, I visited the. liattlc-Geld of Yalenton. , Un the previous day the fight had raged, and all its horrors were now to be seen here to their fullest ex tent. It was a bitterly cold morning. In a summer-house French and Prussians were lying closely side by side on bloody straw, their wounds only partially bound up. and the nun sobbing, shrieking, or imploring for a cool drink to their parched tongues. Tncii*liuib3 were stiff with cold ; but lever burned in their blood. A few were slill; they had struggled for the last time, and all was over; their face 3 had been covered with eacks, handkerchiefs, or paper; they had not had time to bury them yet, be cause the wounded first demanded every one's attention. The battle field was frozen hard, and the sun glittered on the -white, here and there, blood-stained snow; it sparkled, too, on the frozen pools of blood, and .shone on the helmets, swords, bayonets, ai.d fla»ks of the dead soldiers lying every where around, In the first portion of the wood at Valenton mostly Prussian corpses lay; then, in closer ranks, the dead French men. The wounded were everywhere being taken up. Suddenly a low sob fell upon my ear. Close to the trunk of a silver beech tree I found a soldier who was still alive. He belonged to the 12tk. Prussian infantry regiment. He was a fine, s'rong figure, with a large beard ; Ms face, though di^ligured by suffering, was still handsome; his glassy eyes stared at me, He lay with his back resting against the tree, whither he had with difficulty dragged himself ; his hands were convulsively digging into the icy-cold earth " Water !" he groaned as I approached him, I handed him my flosk, and he drank eagerly. Tliis did him good. " Thanhs," he murmured. I wanted to get the ur, fortunate man in a little better posi tion, and looked around for the bearers of the wounded. He made a sign, too. Each moment increased his torture. " Leave me," he said, faint and exhausted. "It is all over with me." "Where are you wounded?" " I have six bullets through the lower parts of my body." "Have you any particular wish ?" " Yes." He wearily raised up his head, and I saw, by the momentary brightening of his eyes, that his departiug spirit was putting forth its last strength. His thoughts were travel ling homewards. " I had just been married a week when I had to go," he said, slowly. "I am from Berlin. I had long worked hard to get a good position iv life, and now, as I had at last succeeded ... I was superintendent in ... factory . . . I mnst die . , . Write for me, please " He dictated to me, and, with my hands trembling with the cold, I wrote down his lasi words : —" Dear Wife, I must die ! So soon must I leave you ! Console your self, and resign yourself to God. I send you my last greetings ; greet, too, my old mother. On " Here his head sank forward on his breast, I held and sup ported him. After a few moments be died in my arms. The address of his wife I found among tne letters in his knapsack, as well as the portrait of his youDg bride. I packed them up and sent them toner.

TOOTHACHE.

By a Modern Shakespeare. To have it out or not —that in the quouion; •'. • Whether'tis better for the jaws to Buffer \ The pangs and torments of an aching tooth, Or to take steel against a host of troubles, ,-, And, by extracting, end them ? To piul-to tag^ No more: and by a tug to say we end • The toothache, and a thousand natural ills The jaw is heir to—'tis a consummation ■ "Devoutly to be wished. To pull—to tug— .-,... To tug 1- porchanco to break—ay. there's the rub • ' For in that wrench what agonies may come, ' WhenwohavehaUt-dModgedthestubbonifoe, Must give ub pauße: there's tho respect That makes an aohing tooth of so long allfe; " For who would bear the whips and Stings of pain, The old wife's nostrum, dentist's contumely, \m 5 Ttie pangs of hopo deferred, kind sleep's deW, : ; When he himsnft might his quietus make- For ono poor shill ing J Who would fardels bear. To groan and sink beneath a load of pain, . Bat that the dread of something lodged within, Tho linen twisted forceps, from whoso pangs. No jayy at ease returns, puzzles the will. And makes it rather bear the ills it has . Than fly to others that it knows not of? : s Thus dentists do make cowards of us all; And.thua the native huo of resolution • , ]~[,■ Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of fear; | And many a one. whoso courage seeks the do® '.'■ With this regard, his footsteps turns away, i;; Soared at the name of dentist.

TERRIBLE STRUGGLE BETWEEN Two Criminals Vondemned to Death.

Some time since a mulatto, named Craljj, : was coudemncd to death for the murder of I a merchant. A few cays after a young . Portugue-e was sentenced to the same fate '■'■■■■■ I for having '•stabbed his mistress." The::': i two were conlhied in separate cells iv the I same prson. Jhey were manacledwith- s, j chains on their feet and hands. Craig, who was very powerful and. ferocious, and >; was a subject of much dread, occupied an obscure dungeon, in which the air pene« tratedltbrough a small grating, but no ray of li<?ht reached his cell. Dardeza, who wm milder in his demeanour, had inspirod the gaoler with compa sion, and his room had'v; some light admitted through a grated \; window, overlooking the country. It was announced to each that their ' execution would take place within three days, For tome time each of the two ■ prisoners had meditated his escape. Dar deza, who had been permitted to receive v the visits of his friends, had obtained some.' instruments to facilitate his-project, but ,: the young man was without vigour, and "was soon discouraged, and had fallen into despair. Craig, more vigorous, more dar ing, did not despair; he resolved to try all means to escape. From the position of his cell, and the way he had becu passed to be conducted to it, he reckoned that one of its walls was the boundary of the prison, and, lie imagined, if he c>u!d get an opening, he might set into the open country. He com- -v,; menced his work, and to prevent h i he noise from being heard, and to soften.,; the stones, he threw water on tbe cement,' ■_ and with the chains which were on. hi 5...,.,, bands scratched against the wall. When he had removed some fragments, be again ■;■, threw water and commenced scratching j he, with indefatigable activity, never ior an instant quitted bis woik. Every time the gaoler come to the grating with a lan tern he would find Craig near the hole pre tending to be asleep, he kept an active ear, and at the least noise he stopped work.; Already the wall was deeply pierced; but . how thick was the wall ? Craig was ignor ant of what he had still to do, he did not .even kuow what time remained to the, hour ot his execution, however he made a last trial, and with, his clentched teeth lie attacked the wall. He is f ayed! the stones give way—the wall is pierced; but ■ .-,;■; alas! it is not the pure air and the open country that meets his eascr look through the opening he has so painfully effected, lie perceives only another cell feebly lighted by the pale glimmer of a lamp ;he 9| hears heavy sigh-,—he culls in a loud 9 voice—he hears IJardeza. In a short lime • the two unfortunates approach other. Craig communicates his design to Dardeza. aad learning that his window overlooked the country, he imagined their flight was a ;ft thing effected; but how many days had '■ passed away since Craig h\d learned the fatal news ? He a-<ked Dardezii, who had I been able to count both hours and days, j and found that the last night had com- . menced, to-morrow's sun would light them to the gallows. This dreadful news only '.■ redoubled Craig's courage ; Dardeza sec- , onded his efforts, and the two uniting their energies, to widen the hole made by Craig, it was large enough to admit hint into the cell of Dardeza, The latter had received from a friend a file to break away the bars from his win dows, but as we have said, the weakjoung man had not tried to accomplish that which at first appeared so impossible. Now. i; however, the presence of Craig animated him; he seized the file, the two set to work, $ and they had soon separated several bars of grating, the opening was large enough to ;; admit them, and if they could effect a leap of sixty feet, their escape was assured; it ■'■ -.:.. only remained to file the chains which attached their feet and hands. But this ' would be a work of time; the night was advancing, the file could not serve both at , the same time. A terrible dispute aroße, the file was in the hands of Dardeza—he wou'd use it—Craig threw himself on him to wrest it away. In this narrow cell, between two chained raen.devoted to death," - a mortal struggle ensued. Craig being the strongest, threw his enemy; Dardezasaw himself vanquished,—but that neither ~; might be saved, he dragged himself to the i ; window, and would have thrown out the . . Instrument that, but a few minutes before / had appeared as a cod in their, eyes; Crafa prevented him,—" You shall never have It,', cried the frantic Dardeza ; and making a violent effort to disengage himself from the ..''■ hands of his adversary, he put the file i» v his month, and swallowed,it! At this sight Craig sank exhausted. It. is done—he must die. Dardeza, overpowered by the efforts he had made, lay like one really dead; the file was fast in his throat, He was suffocating. Craig seized him by the throat' to strangle him, dashed his head against the wall, plunged his hand in his throat, tore open his chest, and sought by the pale light ; of the lamp the precious instrument of safety,—he drew it forth In blood. Soon ho,: is at work,— his chains fall; then with the linen of Dardeza he made a kind of IM - which attached to a bar of the window ne let himself out, But arrived at the es trcmity of the lino, he casts his eye' below him, and an abyss of moro than. thirty && was still left; however, he did not hesitate; his fall was broken hy a platform, on which, he rolled, then he fell on the pavement, but all was not over, he found himself surround ed by a high wall, which it was necessary to climb. At the moment he was searching for the place where ascent was easiest, a . watch-dog attacked him. Craig met him,, and fearful that his barkings would, bo heard, be thrust his hand into his mown, and strangled him ; but in the midst of liw convulsive pangs, the dog bit off his thumb- There was no time to lose,—the day-.was. beginning to dawn,—Craig chose bis spot, and soon the harassed murderer stood at liberty. At day-break the gaoler sought - Ills criminals to lead them to the gallows, —he found only a horrible?' w«t«w c*e* corpse, • r

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, JULY 15, 1882.

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