Year: 1873

1uS WdS De1OC0 ue.

 Not sound was to be heard noth- ing fresh occurred to alarm us in the least, and at last grew almost ashamed of the panic had given way to, merely from having seen man glance through the window. Very probably he was some strolling vagrant who had been at tracted by the bright light of the fire to look in, without doing us any harm.

 So reasoned with myself, and so I tried to reassure the servants. Under any circumstances, was glad to feel that we were safely shut up for the night, and determined to go soon to my room, where I felt less lonely than in the empty drawing-room.

 Had there not been the chance of Arthur returning, would have pro- posed that the servants should sleep in a bed there happened to be in his dress ing-room; but as they assured me they were not at all afraid, now that nothing more had been heard of the man, and I knew it would be great nuisance to Arthur, if he did return, l concluded that it was wiser to let them sleep in their own room, though it was at some distance from mine.

 went to my room at about half-past nine, and proceeded to undress; after which I put on my white flannel dress ing-gown, placed my candles behind me, and seating myself in front of the fire began to read.

 In spite of all my assurances to my self and my servants, felt strangely nervous and restless. My book was a very interesting one, but it failed to obliterate from my mind the horrible remembrance of the face at the window. Perhaps he was there stil1-perhaps he was watching for Arthur's return to waylay and murder him. All sorts of wild visions presented themselves to my mind. Once baby moved slightly, and it made me start nearly to my feet with terror.

 was thoroughly upset, and the only thought that consoled me was, that I had begged Arthur not to return so he was, no doubt, safely at the barracks, little dreaming of my state of mind.

 It was showing heavily still. knew it by the dropping that came steadily down the chimney. The atmosphere seemed to choke me somehow. And ever and anon found myself listening intently.

 The hall clock struck eleven, every stroke vibrating through me. Still sat on; my fire growing dim, and my self feeling cramped, cold and almost immovable.

 What was so afraid of? I asked my self hundred times. could not tell j; 1t was vague, shadowy terror that seemed to be chaining me down. I had heard of peoples hair turning white in night from fear. Surely mine would be as snowy as the ground without if I had to spend the whole night thus.

 Oh, for the sound of Arthur's voice. Perhaps I should never hear it again perhaps he would never know what Q night I had spent, as either he or I might be murdered before morning. Half-past eleven-only thirty minutes since the clock struck. In eight hours our servant from the barracks would come, even if Arthur had settled not to return till morning. Eight hours of this!

 A quarter from twelve. By mighty effort I forced myself to get up. Glancing at the glass, my own ghostly reflection terrified me. I1aid my watch under my pillow, and was in the act of lying down beside baby-not to sleep, as till two o'clock I should hope for Arthur-when sound, awful, wild, un- earthly, broke the stiffness of the dark December night. It was a scream from woman's voice in dire distress an- other followed, and it came from some where in the house. Not moment did I hesitate.

 Springing out of bed and putting on only my slippers happily having kept on my dressing gown-I seized my child, pausing only to snatch up her lit tie shawl that lay beside her on the bed. unbarred my shutter, opened the window, and the next moment was on the veranda. It needed not third wild shriek to impel me to speed be- yond what I had ever dreamed of as possible.

 In second or two was beyond the gate, flying for life, for my own and another existence, dearer far, in my arms, clasped tightly to me-fying through the lanes, past the dreadful hedges, on, stumbling now and then, but recovering myself only to resume my race for life with greater despera-

 tion. Death was surely behind us. If l the pale, piercing face of the outside watcher overlook me now, what would 7 be my fate? God was merciful indeed to me, and gave me the power to proceed in my awful extremity.

 2 Heavens portals could hardly have been more rapturously reached than the , barrack gates, as flew inside of them } saw group of men standing in the , doorway :; and towards them rushed , recognizing, to my unutterable thank. l fitness, among them my husband. : His amazement may be better imagin l ed than described, as he beheld us anc as could not do more than point be- t hind me. I believe poor Arthur mus have thought had gone suddenly ray 7 ing mad. I only heard their voices ? murmuring round me, and I felt baby 3 lifted out of my arms, though they tolc me afterwards held her so tightly they . could scarcely separate us. The nex t thing knew was that Arthur had laic ? me on a sofa in bright warm room B and that we were safe-Arthur, baby y and land together

 s But the servants. I conveyed tt ] Arthur, as coherently as I could, tht s events of the afternoon, and my con viction thatnothing short of murder hac l. been committed. In less than fvt l minutes he was of, with some of tht q others, to the cottage, where the awful :. scene presented itself to their view. a they entered. .., y In the passage from the kitchen tt n the entrance hall lay the dead body O r our unfortunate cook. A blow iron e some heavy weapon had actually smash I ed in the back of the head, and life wa t quite extinct; our other servant wa d found in an insensible state; but, afte e some time, recovered sufficiently to b. 6 able to give the particulars of the at l. tack, and a description of their assailant o who proved to be no other than tn

 monster who had glared in upon m