IT is early morn, and the star-decked heavens canopy a scene never before witnessed at Sunbury. The frightened opossum sits on his tree, too surprised to think of sleep; the native bear scratches his head with a perplexed air of "I can't make it out" in his aspect; the ringtail, twining on his branch, swings himself every way but the right one in his astonishment; the birds chatter and shriek with a power of vocalisation only equalled in intensity by the cry of a young steam engine; and the usual native denizens of Sunbury seem, as if by common consent, to be holding a mock parliament, in which every individual member wishes to give notice of a question, "What 's this for?"

      The cause of this unusual excitement amongst the animal kingdom is, that in a vale in which for ages the echoes had slumbered unawakened by the sound of the human foot, on an undulating plain, where but a week before lordly eucalyptus had reigned without a peer, an immense city of canvas now meets the eye, with streets laid out in perfect order, in which stand rifles, swords, field pieces, flags, powder flasks, and all the "pomp and circumstance of glorious war; a city filled not with inhabitants of all ages, classes, and sexes — the weak, the infirm, the cripple, the invalid, the doctor, or the thief — but a city tenanted by brave men, trained and practised in the use of the martial instruments which are strewn around; men who, unlike the slothful, the covert traitor, or the coward laggart, have proved their title to the name by the position to which they have helped to raise their adopted country, and who, when they have made that spot of land they have chosen for their home the envy of the world, have nobly offered to lay down the wealth they have attained, to relinquish wife, children, parents, and every earthly blessing, and who crave no boon farther than that they may be allowed to preserve that land from the spoiler, or die in her defence. Little, too little do the ephemeral idlers of the hour think, in time of peace, how much they owe to the men who offer themselves as the jeer of street boys from a sense of duty; never was the spirit and true essence of patriotism so well displayed as it was a few years back by the institution of the Volunteer body in our native land.

      Pacing on his lonely beat, on the bank of Jackson's Creek, is a young man attired in rifle costume. As his measured tread — crushing out the insect life that hitherto wantoned among the herbage — falls first upon our ear, a new sound vibrates on the chilly matin air; far from the extreme of the camp ewelis, out in mournful cadence the cry, "No. 1, three o'clock; all's well." As the various guards on duty take up the night word, a sensation of strength and the sublimity of armed resistance steals on our senses, making us realise, as it were, the feelings of the warrior when sleeping on the tented field, ere the rising sun, like the warder of the tournament, shall give token of the hour for the carnage to commence; a sense, as it were, of the nothingness of the strength of a single man to affect the issue of the coming day, takes possession of us, and we could almost fancy ourselves the only living thing in a spectral camp guarded by legions of unseen angels. The peculiarity of the silence is awfully impressive, so much so that we can thoroughly comprehend that a man suffering the pangs of a remorseful conscience, as did King Richard the Third, would naturally exclaim, referring to the husky murmuring, like the hoarse whispering of death —

"'Tis but the echo of some yawning grave, That teems for the untimely dead."

      The youth before mentioned, the hero of this narrative, marched slowly backwards and forwards on the same beaten footway with methodical and machine-like accuracy, and as it is necessary that the reader may know him again, we will describe him as briefly as possible.

      Some nineteen of the four seasons had done their work in moulding the slight yet firmly made figure he presents. The sports of his youth, both English and colonial, had performed their office in giving suppleness and elasticity to his limbs. Military drill, combined with the natural pride inspired by wearing a smart uniform, had given a graceful carriage to his head and neck, while the downy moustache, betokening the dawn of manhood, imparted to his countenance an expression of gravity that greatly improved his otherwise boyish appearance. Our hero's face wore an expression of gloom, which by many persons would be considered inconsistent with his youth, but the fallacy of believing the young incapable of protracted and serious reflection, scarcely requires to be proved in this age, or in a country where, in many instances, the whole business of a merchant's office is conducted by young men, who are, legally speaking, but infants.

      Half an hour had faded into the endless winter of the past, and our hero, quivering with cold, wrapped himself more closely in his cloak, and, placing the lock of his rifle under the outer cape of his great-coat, in order to shield it from the falling dew, continued steadily to parade his beat; at times he paused to tap gently at a log which lay at one of its terminations, under which, some hours before, during his early watch, a snake had ensconced himself; at the other boundary of the extent of land which he had been detailed to guard, stood a large gum tree, in whose branches the opossum disported himself, and the laughing jackass mimicked the wild laughter of the primeval inhabitants.

      As he reached this tree, a small voice exclaimed, "If that is Mr. Tanton, I want to speak to him."

      Starting and dropping his rifle to the order, Tanton — for that is our hero's name — glanced in the direction from which the voice proceeded, when he perceived a small shock-headed boy, about twelve years of age, in whose dirty lips a short black clay pipe was fixed, which the youngster was puffing at vigorously, showing an acquaintance with the pernicious habit of smoking, never witnessed in any but a colonial youth of his age.

      "What do you want? Take that pipe out of your mouth," said Tanton, somewhat sternly.

      "Not smoak, eh? 'gin the rules, I 'spose," returned the boy, with an insolent leer. "Well, if I ain't to be let take my baccy like a gentleman, I ain't agoing to tell what I was sent for.

      "What do you mean; why do you come here?" inquired Tanton.

      "Cos there's been a row at the farm, and Mr. Dick's been took for bushranging, and if you do n't come up, Miss Edith 'll have to marry Larter the lawyer, else the whole 'll be sold to pay what's owing out," rejoined the boy.

      "Good heavens, what can this mean? who sent you?" asked Tanton, eagerly.

      "Well, it was Miss Edith as sent me with a letter."

      "Where is it? give to me," demanded our hero.

      "Well, I do n't mind if I do for a pipe o' baccy."

      "Give it me, or ——," shouted Tanton, holding his rifle by the barrel as he spoke, and raising it as if about to punish the boy for his insolence.

      "Give us some baccy first, then," laughed the urchin, as he sprang behind the tree from which he had first emerged.

      Our hero saw at once he was no match for the nimble-footed young rogue, so, wisely deeming concession the best reply he could make, he drew the required pouch from his breast, and tossed it on the ground. The boy watched its fall, and sprang towards the coveted prize, stealing, however, furtive glances at the rifle Tanton still held in his hands.

      "I say, Mr. Bob, no tricks upon travellers, you know," he remarked, while drawing from what appeared to be a hole in his coat pocket a letter, which, judging from its grease, appeared as if it had been fastened round the wheel of a steam engine; but, instead of advancing to deliver it as he had been charged, he laid it carefully on the spot from which he had taken the pouch, exclaiming as he did so, "There you are, what's worth having is worth coming for, you know."

      Tanton was apparently too eager to obtain possession of the epistle to heed the manner in which he obtained it, but tearing it open, by the light of a match, coupled with the brilliancy of the moon, he contrived to make out its contents, which were as follows:—

      "Dear Robert, — Whatever you may be doing, or wherever you may be, do not delay a moment, but hasten at once to your own Edith."

      What the sentiments of our hero were on reading an epistle which, for its very brevity, only made him inclined to exaggerate the threatening evil, may be imagined. He paced wildly about his beat, and as he reflected on the disgrace and punishment which would fall to his lot were he to absent himself from his guard, he wrung his hands in despair. He knew that were he to wait till relieved, another sun might rise ere he could obtain permission from his commanding officer to quit the camp. But the conflict was of short duration. Sophistical arguments soon came to his aid, and he reflected that his position was not analogous to the common soldier, whose punishment would be death for the offence he was then contemplating; so, flinging his rifle forward to the trail, and calling the boy to follow him, he plunged into the brushwood.

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CHAPTER II.

      THE night dews had ceased falling when we next find our hero, attended by the urchin introduced to the reader in the last chapter, ascending one of the mountain ranges which are so extensively diffused throughout the colony of Victoria. As they neared its summit, the moon, paling as does the beauty of the belle of the ball in the half light heralding Aurora's approach, showed that another day was waiting on the opposite bank to cross in triumph the ferry of the river of Time; as the soft tints, resembling the shades thrown on the face of a beautiful woman from the delicate coloured fringe of her parasol, fell upon the grass, which sparkled like the jewelled zone of some eastern maiden beneath the feet; the deep blue of the far off ranges seemed bathed in variegated colours, as if the great painter of Nature were ascertaining the appropriateness and tone of his pigments before using them for more artistic purposes, and the rapidly-changing hues almost conveyed to the mind the idea that they were caused by legions of imps dressed in appropriate garbs, as guardians of the metallic treasures of the earth, who started momentarily from their grassy lair to disappear again; far in the north the fiery appearance of the horizon betokened the approach of the hot wind, that much abused blessing ofs the climate, while, as the sun gained an ascendancy and poured all its rays in melting splendour down, the night breeze died away amongst the trees in gentle murmurings, as if wishing yet not daring to repine against the fate that ordered it might not exist in competition with an Australian sun.

      Our hero had but little time to indulge in watching the advance of day, but in some minds the sense of the beautiful is easily awakened, and it was this soul-appreciation of inanimate nature that made him pause on the brow of the hill to which he had just attained, and mutter as he sniffed the morning air, "It must have been from such a sunrise as this that the unlettered Hindoo derived the beautiful idea of the world growing from the lotus stem, planted by Vishnu on the firmamental waters."

      We will pass over the continuation of his journey, and shall not trouble the reader for several hours, that is, not until eleven o'clock, when he was to be seen descending the hill which overlooked the agricultural township of H——, concealing himself at some distance from a farm house, which appeared to be the nearest in point of distance, as well as the neatest in the village. He sent the boy forward with a message, and in about a quarter of an hour he had the happiness of seeing a white handkerchief waved from one of the windows of the domicile before alluded to. Throwing himself upon the grass, he lay at full length a prey to his own reflections, the equanimity of his temper being at the same time seriously impaired by the tormenting of swarms of mosquitoes. Suddenly a light step was heard; he sprang to his feet just in time to enfold Edith in his embrace. Edith Sanners, the heroine of this tale, was, without being a beauty, an exceedingly interesting looking young maiden, of petite figure and intelligent face, whose chief attraction was a pair of dove-like blue eyes, betraying great depth of sentiment. Tanton had been brought up in the village, which was little better than a collection of scattered farm houses, and to this cause must be traced the cordial relations which existed between them.

      At the time when it had been considered by those who had always acted in loco parentis to him, for he was an orphan, that the clever boy would get on much better in Melbourne than at home, Edith and he had privately affianced themselves to one another; therefore, after this explanation, the state of mind into which he was thrown on hearing the startling intelligence from the boy, as narrated in the last chapter, can be easily accounted for.

      The first words uttered were of course terms of endearment, but as soon as the novelty of meeting had worn off, Edith exclaimed, "Oh, dear Robert, I am so glad you have come, for we have been in sad trouble since you left! But I must give you a detailed narrative of all circumstances, as I wish you to understand thoroughly the peculiar position in which we are placed. About a month ago my brother Dick took an extraordinary fancy to going out night after night, and remaining away from home till nearly daybreak. My father (finding that the want of sufficient rest impaired his strength, and prevented him from doing his work) asked for an explanation of his reason for these night rambles. He persisted in asserting that he went to shoot opossums, and, as he always took his gun with him, we supposed for some time this was the correct explanation; but my father, one morning after a long altercation with Dick, who, as he is getting a young man now, does not pay much attention to what father says, mentioned that it was very strange, if Dick spent the night in shooting opossums, that he rarely brought home more than two, and sometimes none at all. We then inspected his powder and shot flask, and found that to all appearance the quantity had not been materially reduced. Father then inquired of the storekeepers about if Dick had bought any powder lately, but they all said they had not seen him for some time. This continued for weeks; home daily becoming more uncomfortable for us all, on account of the quarrels between father and Dick. One morning however, Dick was not down to breakfast in time, and as this had happened more than once lately, father told him that if his night sports rendered him unfit for his duties in the morning he should leave the farm. The same afternoon the police called at our house, which they asked to be allowed to search. My mother and myself only were at home, and they at once inquired for Dick's bedroom, and examined it. They asked mother, who was almost fainting with dread of she knew not what, for the suit of clothes Dick had worn for some time past. My mother told them she had not seen them. We had all noticed that Dick wore a different suit that morning to the one be had had previously. And you may imagine our horror when the police opened a fissure between the roof and ceiling and pulled the missing articles down covered with blood. Shortly afterwards father and Dick returned home, and as the police had ordered us not to leave the house, you may imagine the agony of mind we endured on hearing their approaching footsteps. As soon as they entered the officers seized Dick, exclaiming, 'Young man, we arrest you for the murder of Anthony Toshurt!' Dick only started on seeing them, and half groaned out, 'So soon!' And without, even looking at or speaking to us, held out his hands for the handcuffs, and walked away with the police. All our energies were devoted to attend to father, who, as soon as he heard the fatal charge, had sunk down on a chair in a sort of fainting fit. But this, though seemingly bad enough, is not the worst of our troubles. Lawyer Larter called on us the other day, and said that if father did not pay up the money he owes on something or other over the farm —"

      "A mortgage?" interrupted Tanton.

      "Yes, that is it; a mortgage. If he did not pay it all up within a week, that he would sell the farm off by auction. Father had a good crop you know this season, so he offered to pay him half the money and more interest if he would let the remainder stand over; but Larter inexorable, and went away repeating 'only a week, Mr. Sanners, only a week!'

      "And now I come to the part relating to myself. The day before yesterday Larter came up again, and asked to see me alone; I, of course, granted his request; and he then told me, that if he chose to give certain evidence he could save Dick, who has been committed to take his trial for wilful murder; and would also give my father five years to pay the rest of the money in, if I would marry him. Of course I at first refused him, but he pointed out to me so plainly that we were all in his power, that I at last asked for a fortnight to consider.

      "Now, Robert, what is to be done? You know Larter bears a bad name in the district; and his house is always shut up like a nunnery. His neighbours say there is something in his manners they cannot make out; and there are reports that wild shrieks, like some female in distress are frequently heard issuing from some part of his dwelling. But I must not detain you here; Dick wishes to speak to you at once, and as his life is imperilled, it is of more consequence than what I have been talking about."

      "Well, Edith, darling, it is a most perplexing mystery," rejoined Tanton; "but first tell me, how do your parents treat this proposal?"

      "Ah, there Robert, is what grieves me most," she replied; "they have not spoken decidedly on the subject, but their demean shows they consider a daughter cannot make too great a sacrifice for the good of her parents."

      "Well, my dear girl, in this state of affairs I must see your brother before I can take any steps in the matter," said our hero. "Do not mention to anyone that I am here; but meet me after dusk at this our old trysting place, and by that time I shall probably have resolved upon what course to pursue."

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CHAPTER III. THE GAOL.

      TANTON soon arrived at the place of confinement, in the neighbouring township, of his old friend Dick Sanners, and was speedily shown into his presence. Dick was rejoiced to see him, but after a few preliminary observations had passed, Robert, seating himself on the bed, said, "And now, my dear fellow, make a clean breast of the circumstance that got you into this scrape; for I do not believe it is more than a mistake, which you could, if you chose, easily clear up."

      "Ah, Bob," he replied sorrowfully, "it is a mistake that is more likely to hang me than to be cleared up. But prepare yourself to listen to a tale which will bear the palm for romance from any in the colony. You know that my education was, like your own, far above the average of persons of my class, and you are well acquainted with the dreams of future riches and greatness I so ardently cherished in my youth. When I left school, and had to follow the plough and attend to the other menial duties of the farm, my pride was naturally hurt, and still more so when you, the orphan who had grown up by my side, were sent by my father to Melbourne. It will be necessary, in order that you may understand what I am about to say to you, that you should call to mind the circumstances under which you first came to reside with us. My father one day, some nine years ago, received a letter enclosing a draft for fifty pounds, which stated that a little boy had been sent to his care by the writer who knew him to be a man of respectability, and asserting that if my father would take the child and educate him he should receive the yearly sum of one hundred pounds in consideration of your board, education, &c. The fifty pounds enclosed was to be considered by my father as a bonus for his trouble. As my father was much in want of money at the time, he, of course, jumped at the proposal; and indeed he could hardly do otherwise, because as no address or signature was given to the letter, he would be naturally puzzled where to send you. No further communications were received from the unknown writer, except those regularly enclosing drafts for your board, &c. as promised, until some months ago, when a request was remitted that you should be placed in some office in Melbourne, and enclosing a sufficient sum to pay expenses of outfit, etc.; you accordingly left us for Melbourne. You may remember I was always remarkably fond of money, and I determined to endeavour to enrich myself and family by turning gold digger; but how? was the next question that suggested itself to me. I knew my father would never consent to my giving up farming to embark on such a course, so I hit upon the somewhat novel expedient of going at night under the pretence of shooting opossums, and trying my luck amongst a number of hills which I deemed metalliferous, in a spot only known to myself. One night, while tramping wearily towards the place where I concealed my tools, I saw a man, who appeared to be bent on much the same game as myself; I met him constantly for a long time nightly, and at last gained his confidence, and induced him to become a partner in my enterprise. We at last found what we considered to be favourable indications, and commenced to work. One night he became communicative and acknowledged himself to be your uncle, and the author of the letters we had received providing for your welfare. He informed me that you were the only son of his favourite sister, who had bequeathed you to his charge; that he had done his best to provide for you, but that he had met with various disappointments, the nature of which he did not particularise, and finally became very badly off. His chief object in life seemed to be to make a comfortable independence, that he might will it to you, as he seemed tormented with the thought that he had spent the greater part of the property bequeathed you by his sister, your mother. On one point, however, he was for a long time silent — namely, the reason that brought him to this part of the country; but this information I at last elicited. It appeared that he had once been sincerely attached to an English girl, by name Susan Oton, but whose father having in some way fallen into the power of Larter, the village attorney, had compelled her to marry him. Some years subsequently, Larter emigrated to this colony and settled in this district, since which time Miss Oton, or Mrs. Larter, became entitled to a considerable amount of property by the death of some relation. About a month after she had inherited it, the report of her death suddenly appeared in the newspapers. Athony Toshurt — for this was the name of your uncle, with whose murder I am charged — brooded over the circumstances of the case until it appeared a conviction that foul play had been used dawned upon his mind. He came to this neighbourhood, keeping of course as much out of sight as possible, and by bribing the sexton, he obtained his aid in exhuming the coffin of Susan Larter, which, as he suspected, he found filled with stones and other rubbish. His suspicions at once took a decided form, and he determined to devote his life to ascertain the fate of his early love. His career, however, poor fellow, was but brief, for on the night of the murder, when I descended the mine to go to work I found poor Anthony lying at the bottom gasping for air, with a fatal wound in the back of his head, caused by a pick on which he had fallen. It appeared that just before resuming work, Larter had ridden up, had recognised him, an altercation ensued, during which Anthony taxed him with having done his wife some mischief, and foolishly enough disclosed what he knew about the empty coffin. Larter replied that he knew too much; and, taking advantage of a favourable opportunity, dashed him down the mine; he fell, as I have told you, on the pick head. And it was the blood on my clothes from his wound which told so frightfully against me at the examination. Before I was imprisoned, I ascertained that Larter had ridden out on the morning succeeding the murder, and had returned from that direction; he therefore most probably went to see if he had effectually executed his fiendish work. You will ask, probably, why I did not raise the alarm in the first instance; but you must remember that my nocturnal habits, and the blood on my clothes, coupled with the fact that no one but myself had probably been seen coming from the scene of the murder, would have told strongly against me; and, again, the secret of our mine would have been discovered. My impulse was to bury the body. None but myself and Larter had any interest in his existence, and the few shop-people in the neighbouring towns would, if they had missed him, have considered he had gone on the Wallaby in all probability. I therefore concealed it, for the time being, in a thicket, as morning was already dawning before he died; never of course dreaming for one moment Larter would have the consummate impudence to raise the hue and cry, and have me charged with the deed.

      "I believe the villain has since made proposals to Edith, hinting that he will save my life if she will marry him; and you will see from what I have told you, he can do this without at all compromising himself. He has only to swear that he saw Anthony alive when riding through the bush on the morning on which the body was found, and that would be a most distinct alibi in my favour; as my own family could prove I was at work from that hour till the hour the murdered body was discovered, and I should only have to assert the blood on my clothes was caused by an opossum, or something of that sort, and I should be free. Were I, in my present position, without correlative proof, to accuse him of the murder, I should only prejudice my own case, but if able to prove that he has used foul play towards his wife, I should more likely be believed. It is on this matter, therefore, I require your assistance."

      At the conclusion of this narrative, Robert mused for a few moments, and then grasping his friend's hand, exclaimed, "It shall be done, Dick; when does the trial come off?"

      "In a fortnight," replied the prisoner.

      "Hum! I will let you know the result of my investigation in two days at the farthest," responded Tanton: "till then I must leave you; so, so-long," and, without waiting for an answer, he abruptly quitted the room.

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CHAPTER IV.

      'TIS night, a tempestuous night; the wind coming up from the Bay in puffs, whistles and shrieks through the wood-covered ranges, the shadows flit fast and furiously across the surface of the moon, in short spurts, like race horses struggling vainly to defeat time; the birds retire to their nests, the native bear to his favourite branch, and other animals to their lairs; the native dog alone howls dismally, the sole animated monarch of the hour. A few drops of rain fall at intervals, the moon at length, tired of perpetually playing bo-peep with the clouds, hides her face from the world, and retires behind their veil to sleep, perchance to dream. The elements seem to have chosen this night for the display of their so long quiescent power, in order to favour the design of our hero, who stands dressed in rough bush clothes under the end window of Larter's mansion. His reason for choosing this one more particularly was, that, when watching the house during the preceding hours of daylight, he had noticed that when evening approached all the blinds were drawn down with this one exception; he had, therefore, determined that his first essay in housebreaking should be made in this direction. He had apparently spared no expense in equipping himself for the task, and a small valise strapped to his back contained, beside the usual instruments used by burglars, a number of flat pieces of wood with strong iron spikes fitted in them; taking which in his hand, and fixing them in the wall as high as he could reach, he began his perilous ascent, stopping, when he had obtained a sure footing, on each one in succession, to add another step. Round his waist he had affixed a stout rope, which, as soon as he reached the summit of his improvised ladder, he made fast to another piece, which he fixed in the frame-work of the window; he then cautiously raised the lower half of the window and entered. He had provided himself with a noiseless means of obtaining a light, which having done, he perceived to his great surprise that the room was furnished, though but poorly so; a plain deal washstand stood in one corner, a single wood-seated chair by its side, while at the opposite extremity, on an iron bedstead, reclined a female form. Glancing around, Tanton perceived that the door was composed of strong hardwood with massive iron fastenings. Our hero's opinion as to the best course to pursue was soon made up; he noiselessly approached the still somnolent recumbent female, and drawing the small miniature from his bosom, he stood for a few moments apparently comparing its features with the original. The likeness represented a plump comely-looking country lass, in whose mirthful eyes Comus danced with unceasing activity; a mere girl, whose figure, just bursting into womanhood, gave the beholder a not unpleasing idea of rotundity; a being in whom joy and hope and ceaseless vivacity, caused by an unbounded supply of animal spirits, seemed destined to last for ever; in fact, it represented a woman whose character was tempered with the sportiveness of the child — a child whose joyous abandon was modulated by the modesty and dawning sense of propriety becoming a woman. The picture had apparently been taken during the immature infancy of the photographic art, and though rude in its character, and showing but little regard to accuracy of detail, it was no unworthy specimen of an art whose professors might fitly rank amongst the scientific chemical monarchs of this century. But, can it be that the figure, which appears in the portrait to be instinct with life and vivacity, under whose head the flower spangled earth seems to bound, like the rolling waves before the keel of the ocean clipper, is the presentment of the original of the emaciated, half clad, wild looking being who reclines on the straw pallet, sleeping — nay, utter no such misnomer, dreaming rather — the weary hours of night, and through the slow passing ones of day, with nothing to beguile the tedium but thought; which to exercise, should be free thought; which is the slave of the now disciplined mind, the master of the lunatic and imbecile, the terror of the criminal, the comfort of the religieuse, and God's dispensation to all.

      The female before mentioned, whom my reader will probably have guessed, ere this, was Susan Larter née Susan Oton, had thrown herself fully dressed on the bed, and, as if utterly wearied, had dropped into a deep sleep. Doubling his handkerchief and placing it lightly over her mouth, in order to deaden any noise she might make, Tanton touched her gently on the shoulder and whispered in her ear "Susan Oton."

      Startled, she awoke with a slight scream, but on seeing a stranger standing over her, she arose, and flinging herself on her knees before him, she said, "Whoever you may be, for the love of mercy, save me from this horrible place."

      Tanton gazed around, and perceiving the massive fastenings of the huge door, he replied, "Console yourself, my dear Mrs. Larter, I came here for no other purpose; but am I then to understand that you have been imprisoned here for more than eighteen months?"

      Perceiving from the expression of her countenance his conjecture was correct, he continued, "if you wish to escape, fly with me, and I will convey you to a place of safety, but we must make it appear that your elopement was unaided; if you will assist me to tie your bedding together, I will hang it from the window, so as to convey the idea that you released yourself by its means."

      "But, sir," she exclaimed, "your name? You are a stranger to me, and I dare not leave the protection of my husband's roof with one whom I have never before seen."

      "My dear Mrs. Larter, or, if I might call you by a name which suggests less unpleasant recollections, Miss Oton, believe me when I tell you I am here on behalf of justice, and to save the life of a friend and the happiness of one still more dear." He then rapidly narrated the events, already known to the reader, respecting the murder of Anthony Toshurt. During its recital, Mrs. Larter wept bitterly; but when he had finished, she said, checking the display of her grief, "I may have been nervous and frightened when you first intruded upon me, but my mind is now decided. Think, young man, what it is you would ask of me. You would ask a wife to become the informer against her husband, and you would seek to make her bring to the grave in blood the grey hairs of that man she has sworn to love, honour, and obey. You demand, air, too much; I cannot accept liberty at such a price."

      Here was a dilemma, and one that most ordinary beings would have been powerless to cope with; but in narrating the circumstances attending the death of Anthony Toshurt, our hero had omitted to mention the facts relating to the sham burial and Susan's pretended death. Taking advantage of this omission, Tanton replied, "Be it so then; if you will not accord justice to others, you might surely, when you have the opportunity, do at least one good act. If you will only fly now and come to the farm to reside, your husband, at least, will not dare to continue his overtures to Miss Sanners, when he knows his wife may at any moment be confronted with him; besides, my dear Mrs. Larter, my friend's assertion concerning your husband's complicity in the murder may not be correct. Mr. Larter, if charged, may be in a position to prove his entire innocence of the crime; you will then have an opportunity of establishing your conjugal rights without intimidation, and you must remember that you cannot be compelled to give any evidence against him. I offer you, therefore, one minute to decide whether you will accept liberty, and, by accepting it, benefit one of your own sex, or refuse it and remain a prisoner."

      Mrs. Larter wept bitterly for a few moments, but as soon as sobs would allow her to regain her utterance, she said, "I accept — I will trust you."

      "We must be quick then," said Tanton, who instantly proceeded to the window, and fastening the rope in such a manner that he could draw it after him, turned to assist her out, but before he could do so, a step was heard ascending the stairs, and in another moment Larter entered the room in his night-dress.

      "Hist! do not make a sound," breathed Tanton into the terrified woman's ear; "he cannot see us, he is asleep."

      Larter walked slowly into the room, a candle in one hand, while the other he continually passed over his body, as if endeavouring to wipe away some noxious substance; presently he murmured, "Blood, blood! I bathe in blood — I eat, walk, sleep, write in blood. Woe! Woe!"

      Slowly repeating these words, he made a complete circuit of the room, and again went out of the door, luckily leaving it open.

      The two intending fugitives listened intently until they heard him return to his room, and they then stole softly down stairs, and opening a window for the purpose of allowing Mrs. Larter to make her exit, Tanton returned to the chamber he had just quitted, and at his request, Mrs. Larter locked the door of the room on the outside, leaving him to escape by the window, which he accordingly did, carefully removing all traces of his improvised ladder, and leaving the sheets hanging but half way down, with a large blanket on the ground beneath, in order to convey the idea that Mrs. Larter had fallen in the attempt to escape. The night had now become fine, the moon, in haloed beauty, illumined their path, and afforded them sufficient light to thread their way over the numerous crab-holes and dead trunks, and in a short time they arrived at Mr. Sanners' farm.

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CHAPTER V.

      MORNING again! and the sequence of events leads us to the court in which Richard Sanners is to stand patiently for hours, listening and anxiously awaiting the utterance of that fearful dissyllable which shuts out with an awful clang of the heart's gate, all hope of the realisation of the fervent dreams of boyhood, all hope of the fulfilment of the duties of life, all hope of the blessed humanising feeling of paternity, and leaves in the breast, contemporaneous with the last kind word by which the judge confesses his human origin — "May God have mercy on your soul" — a feeling of oppression, injustice, and the true conception of the doctrine of revenge, the foundation of the institution of civilised murder.

      The trial proceeds, and by every artifice known to legal acumen, the prosecuting counsel endeavours to dispense with the evidence of Larter, and when requested to produce him, hands in a letter stating that he is suffering from illness and cannot leave his room; but finding that the note is without corroboration from any medical practitioner, the counsel for the defence insists upon his production. At length he enters the court, with hesitating step and scrutinising glance. When he has thoroughly surveyed the upturned faces, he turns to the clerk, who is administering the requisite oath, with a feeling of relief, that lights up his countenance even more than the sunbeam, which, at that moment, falling vertically through the diamond-paned windows, settles upon the dark paint of the witness-box, which, to an imaginative eye, seems covered with pictures of the death-bed scenes of the creatures who go down to the grave stricken with remorse for the glib perjuries uttered within its three parapets.

      Soon, the examination-in-chief being concluded, Larter steps with alacrity from the box, with an innate sense of thankfulness pervading his mind; but he is recalled to the legalising purgatory by an imperious gesture of the prisoner's counsel, who commences a rigorous cross-examination.

      Some comparatively unimportant facts are at first introduced, when, skilfully inserted, comes the question, "Are you married or single?"

      The witness pauses for a moment, as if to collect his thoughts; the judge glances up from his notes, remarking softly, "Surely so simple a question needs no hesitation, sir." A shadow flits across the countenance of Larter, but seeing the danger of his situation, he replies in a firm voice, "Single."

      The examiner signs to the judge, as if requesting him to take notes of the answer, and continues, "But you were married, were you not?"

      "I was."

      "To whom?" still in the same mild persuasive tone.

      "Miss Susan Oton."

      "Where then is your wife — this Miss Oton that was?" queries the counsel.

      "She is dead."

      "It seems to me that this line of examination is altogether foreign to the case," mildly puts in the judge.

      The advocate casts his eyes to the ceiling while this remark is being made, and as soon as it is finished, responds, "The witness, judging from the efforts he makes to answer my questions, appears to think differently, your honour;" then again resuming his interrogations, he says —

      "You have told the court, witness, that your wife is dead. Can you give the exact date of her death?"

      "I can. It was the nineteenth of September, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-two; and she was buried on the twenty-second of the same month."

      "Your memory serves you well," replied the persistent tormentor. "Then the entries in this certificate (producing the register of death) are correct."

      "They are," replied Larter.

      "Then, sir," returned the barrister, raising his voice almost to a roar, "they are as false as every tittle of your evidence. Do you know that lady?" pointing as he spoke to a female who had remained seated, concealed from almost every eye until that moment, but who, now rising, stood full in view of the whole court.

      "Susan! my wife! fiends, ye have conquered!" groaned the unhappy man, and with a long gasping sob he fell backward in a fit.

      "Your honour, I have finished," said the counsel for the defence, as he resumed his seat, and the witness was removed from court.

      Still, however, in spite of this extraordinary scene, the trial proceeded, as no direct proof could be brought to rebut that terrible evidence of the hidden clothes covered with blood; and Sanners waited in heart-sick anxiety, noticing how the chain of circumstances against him seemed like some Titanic effort to build a mountain that should reach the clouds, and as each missing link was supplied he shut his eyes, and resigned himself to a fate which appeared almost inevitable; and when his counsel, a junior at the bar, rose to defend him, he leant forward on the dock, listening with growing despair how fearfully weak his unsupported testimony, though skilfully pleaded by the man of law, appeared, when contrasted with the long string of circumstantial evidence arrayed against him.

      It is impossible to give a resumé of the remarks of the eloquent pleader, but, after artfully placing before the jury the explanation of his client, he closed with the following peroration:—

      "Gentlemen, in the name of humanity, in the name of civilisation, what faith can you, dare you, put in the words of a man who keeps, as it were, a false key to his own heart? Gentlemen, I beseech you, pause ere delivering your verdict. The perjurer is the parasite of society, for he fattens and nourishes himself upon the lives of others; worse, then times worse, than the demoniacal ghoul, worse than the writhing reptile which crushes you in his folds, worse than the midnight assassin. In what depth of infamy, in which of the lower abysses of Hades, in which of the most crime-reeking, pestilential communities, can I find a comparison for him? I look in vain for his equal in the Hindoo Pantheon, amongst all the monstrosities which so morally debased a people are capable of inventing — in vain in the old fables of Egyptian and Grecian mythology — in vain in the wilds of Africa, in the Cannibal Islands of the Pacific — in vain in the gambling hell, in the prison hulk, and the lowest abodes of human misery and crime, until my brain and eyes alike ache with seeking for the original similitude of so vile, base, and contemptible a thing; and in despair I turn to the only created object which can convey an idea of such a monster, namely, the adder, which, crawling into and nourished by the warmth of your bed, repays the accommodation by stinging you to death. Gentlemen, the heart revolts and turns in disgust from a man who strives to ruin not the animation of the mortal object, but the immortality of its soul; who would, if his own interests were in jeopardy, daringly with unblushing effrontery, swear away the existence of all that was good and pure, careless whether their souls should be flung to float like withered leaves on the sulphureous waves of the ocean of the east, and admitting only the one principle that he himself was mortal. Gentlemen, I have asked you to consider his treatment of his wife, and the perjured affidavits by which this, the principal witness of the Crown, has rendered himself amenable to the outraged laws of his country; and I ask you to disabuse your minds of all impressions engendered by his evidence. Gentlemen, I have said enough in endeavouring to make you separate the question of my client's guilt or innocence from all statements of this man; I have asked you to remember the importance of the office you are about to perform, and I will conclude with these two lines:

'Have mercy; 'tis a little spark that, in the spirit's fire, Burns brightly; if you quench its light, Justice will soon expire.'"

      Several hours passed ere the jury returned into court, and when they glided in, their black shadows falling on the wall of the dimly lighted chamber, the prisoner, though not generally superstitious, fancied they appeared like priestly executioners, about to lead him to the stake of some auto da fé, and throwing back his head with a haughty air, and resting his hands on the barrier in front of him, he stood as if prepared to confront fate.

      In answer to the usual questions the foreman of the jury replied in measured tones, "We find him ——"

      "A confession, a confession!" shouted several voices at the door, and arresting the speech of the surprised foreman by the suddenness of the proceeding.

      An official rushed into court, and handed to the judge the dying confession of the murder made by Larter, who had recovered from the mental shock he had received sufficiently to sign his dying deposition before breathing his last.

      We will leave our readers to imagine the dénouement, only premising that if this short tale suits the fancy, they shall at some future period hear more of the fortunes of the Sanners family.

(THE END)