The Sunday herald and weekly national intelligencer., 1891-03-15

darted up the flight of steps into the gallery:
in the days of my Garelessness and my pro
fligacy, and thou frown'dst not always then.
Wilt not smile now, when--in my new habit of
grace-l, an elect soul, ask for thy favor and
offer thee peace ?'
Thou vert ever kind,n she said, trembling.
"But cannot love twain"
"And thou lovest-whom ?''
"Pardon me, Master Dowdeswel. But what
is that to thee ?n
"Then there was silence for space, and
presently the trampling of mems feet sounded
in the vestibule. Dowdeswell rose and went to
the door.
"We have searched, Captain, but we have dis
covered none," said harsh voice. ''Only in
the stable worn-out nag reposeth, and there
be blood upon his 1anks and slight wound,
and methinks he hath been in the battle, and
in the holster was this kerchief, embroidered
with the letters j. O."
"Good," returned Dowdeswell. await me
without"
Then he shut the door aud came back to his
former position, fronting Anne, and with the
clock that still pointed to half-past four behind
her.
"Mstress Anne Fane,n he began senten-
tiously, 81 like thee WE'LL and l would fain
make thee my wife and gradually draw thee to
higher delights and school thy mind to right
thinking. To my sorrow, thou mislikest me-
and withdraw But ere quit thee, | conjure
thee tell meas thou fearest God and as thou
lowest virtue and desirest the rewards of
Heaven-dost thou conceal here in some secret
chamber or in some hidden vault the person OF
the rebel whom l seekY'
| "No," said Anne.
and leaning over the railing, she cried to
Dowdeswell to stay his movements.
"Hold l' she cried imperatively. ''See here,
Master Dowdeswell! have thy pistol 1t is
but sylable-touch Master Quvi by but one
finger-and l fire IL fire, bark ye, and am
dead And thou lowest me- Master Dowdes-
we'll, thou lowest me! Nay-stand where thou
art. Stir but an inch, and die. See the pis-
tol is at my bosom Listen Make up thy
mind to depart in peace and leave Jack Quivil
unharmed, while | count ten. For if, when
come to ten, thou be still here fire-and
die-thy little Nan, whom thou lowest, dies!'
She began to count, leaning over the balus-
trade, with the pistol pressed against her breast
and her finger on the trigger, and with her eyes
fixed upon the two men. They dared not stir.
bound.
''One," she began.
'Stop, Nan, stop!' entreated Quivil. sLet
me go with him l care naught. Stop, dear
love, stop counting, and take that pistol from
thy breast. Come down, l adjure thee ~
''Two," she proceeded slowly. ''Three -"
| Mistress Anne, | cannot do the thing
would. But o, for the love of God, take that
deadly instrument from thy breast % implored
| Dowdeswell.
''Four," she went on. ssFive-six -"
"Nan, thou art killing me! 1 care not jot
for imprisonment or death.n
| ''Seven -'
"Nan, my little Nan, think that man who
loves owes duty too. Have mercy on me and
| come down.
'Elght -"
''Nan, sweet soul, forbearp'
"Nan, in Gods name, cease |"
| ssNine -"
''For loves sake !" cried Quivil, pointing his
pistol at his own breast.
"For conscience p exclaimed Dowdeswell
seizing the pistol which still lay upon the table
and thrusting it against his head
simultaneously the two men fired.
''Ten!"
1t was mechanical cry. Anne dropped the
pistol from her hand and rushed down the
steps, and as she reached the bottom Dowdes-
wells troopers hurried into the room. But the
Cavalier and the Roundhead who had loved
Mistress Anne so well lay dead, and above them
| stood the silent clock pointing to half-p four