The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-07-12

From the window he watches Mark resume
his seat in his carriage, nor wonders he where
ore he prefers solitude. But the time is up,
md they are off again.
In his heart, and without knowing wherefore,
Mark curses that gray-eyed mans politeness.
But the French are so very polite, so there could
lot be anything in that; oh, mol" Still he
wishes he had not asked him. He does not
ike his eyes.
And the train whirls ON. Trees, houses, gar
lens; fields cultivated in patches, but now par
Tally covered with snow; cemeteries, where rude
wooden crosses are, and yellow garlands on
humble tombs; meadows, chalky plains, a river
.limpses of the sea-all are passed in turn,
Marks spirits rising still, and his thoughts wan
iering more and more from the wires, and fix
ing themselves more and more on the sea- The
train stops for the last time The next station
is Boulogne. No! "Surely that was not the
meeklooking man again, peeping in at the car
rage window. D-n him 1"
OH again more trees, more fields, another
glimpse of the river, and wider glimpse of
the sea. They STOP "Boulogne; descend, if
you please, Messieurs travellers. The English
steamer is ready. Those who are going to Lon.
Ion will please pass into the Bureau d. En-
barquement"
Mark, now breathing quite freely, mingles
with the crowd, and passes on. He has no lug
gage, and is first at the Bureau d Enabarcation
"For London, sir?" asks the clerk, taking
Marks passport.
Yes," is the response.
1t is looked at, and the permit is already in
the clerks hand, when a superior, who is stand
ing by, tells him to stay minute. Mark tries
not to finch from the scrutiny of the official,
and stares him out. But something must be
wrong, or there would not be this hesitation
Ha Ia 81 "a.
over him, and of his being an object of suspi-
cion. He is about to demand his permit dem
barcation, when he hears the voice of the meek
looking gentleman addressing him:
Resistance is useless. You are lost"
The chill of death is upon Mark. The meek
gentleman is at his side, and not far off are two
soldiers.
" have the order for your arrest" says the
police agent. You have been quick, but our
agents have been quicker"
Mark answers not a word. He sees his game
is up. But his desperation is great. Escape
is hopeless. He feels that. Yet, who knows
Courage, and one last attempt.
he Strikes down the agent with terrible
blow from that muscular arm of his, and leap
ing the barrier, makes for the station His OBJ
ject Is to gain the line; then he will run, and, as
soon as he comes to favorable place, he will
country. He will hide till night, and then hire
fishing smack and put off to sea. All this
rushes through his brain in second of time,
though he feels all the time that he shall fail.
Great is the hue, great the cry. The confu-
sion is beyond everything. The two soldiers,
at first taken by surprise, have twice covered
him with their pieces, but have hesitated to
FIRE, lest they should hit any of those around
him. He has taken out his pistols, and mena-
ces all who approach him, still running with
speed that is marvellous, and would seem to be
yet more so, if people knew how his bruised
limbs ache. He bounds over heaps of luggage
like deer, and, looking right, left, behind, and
before, speeds on, till he is clear of the station
A hundred pursuers are on his track, shouting
to give the alarm to others ahead. He comes
to a turn, sudden turn in the road when a
shrill whistle is heard. An engine is approach
ing him, full speed. 1t has just taken its meal
| OF hire, and is vomiting its hot breath in vol
umes. The impetus is terrific. Mark, still
running, is aghast, but cannot stop himself,
though fain he would In his mad terror, he
discharges his pistols at the fiery monster,
slips in trying to step aside and falls across
the rails. Amidst the Mortified shrieks of his
appalled, pursuers, who are now closing fast
upon him, his wicked life is crushed out and
all that remains of him, when they come up, is
a mangled body, torn limb from limb, and a
head, which, even whilst rolling from under the
wheel that has severed it from its trunk, scowls
upon them fierce defiance and deadly hate.