The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-08-02

home and to remain away until the affair should blow over." Remorse did not at once strike his cold heart, but later, when friendless and unknown he wander cd in distant lands, a sense of his crime weighed upon him and made his life mis- erable."
 The marksmanship of retfibution,' he would sometimes muse. While in Paris, he received a letter from home ]" You need have no fears of coming back" said the writer, for the law will take no action in the matter. The house has been rented to advantage, but now it is vacant It is too large for any one family. Of course you can act as you please, but if l were in your place would come back at once."
 The letter did not impazt a thrill of pleasure. The estate was his, but he did not exult in the ownership. The marks man of retribution was doing his work.
 He was at once recognized when he reached Little Rock, but no one spoke of arresting him. The officers regarded it a piece of gratuitous work, and private citizens cared not to meddle with an affair which did not immediately concern them. The great house is several miles above Little Rock, and the best way to reach it is by water. Bruxell was just in time to secure passage on steamboat. The night was dark and stormy. He dreaded to hear the wind signing among the tall peaks of the quaint building. The boat landed and Bruxell shivered as he walked across the bar, where, three years before, William had fallen. Securing the key from an old negro who lived on the place, the oppressed man went to the house. It was some time be- fore he could summon sufficient courage to brave the gloomy place. He entered and lighted the great swinging lamp. He took out his pistol, the weapon with which he had killed his cousin-and which was then loaded with s heavy charge-and placed it on the mantel piece. Crnssing the room, he threw him. self on a sofa near window. The air was so stifling that he threw open the shutters. Above the mantelpiece hung an oil painting of William. Bruxell shuddered as he gazed upon it.
 The marksmanship of retnbution," he unused. Gods, how like him it is What enjoyment can derive from this place, now that have it in undisputed title? If the law should not seize me, how is the retribution to come? Am to live miserable life and die in hor- rible dread of hell? He shuddered at the thought. can repent. An, yes, l can repent! Men who commit murder repent and die with shout and song of gladness. l did not commit murder. If he knew that would kill him, why did he agree to fight? Forced him into it !" he exclaimed, as though replying to an accusation. would not have ambush cd him. Old Martin told him to fight. His conscience is clear enough, warrant you. Great God that picture stares with the eyes of human"
 A strong gust of wind blew through the window. The picture was blown back against the wall. It fell with a crash, and in falling, struck the pistol. The weapon fell on the floor. A deafening report. The room was filled with smoke. Brux- ell howled like a wild beast, and stagger- ed to his feet. The ball had gone through his breast. With a crash he hurled himself on the picture.
 Craftsmanship of retribution," he cried, tearing the canvas. When morn- ing came, Bruxell was found, lying across . bloody picture, dead. The retr- butive marksman had not missed his aim.