Year: 1876

She was not old, and her face, haggard,
with care and scanned with trouble, still
bore traces of great beauty. She came
into the Office with a quick, nervous
tread, and there was hunted look in
the eyes that betrayed the fugitive.
She closed the door behind her and
turned the key in almost the same mo.
tion, with the quick, instructive manner
of person who had fallen into the habit
of isolating herself from observation and
pursuit at every opportunity. She re-
fused to sit down, but said:


can tell you all you will want TO
know about me in a very few words.
am fugitive"


We told her we had guessed as much,
and we besought her to confide nothing
to us. We could not help her, we said;
our duty as a journalist would not per-
NIT us to extend any aid to person fly
ing from the law. She said:


''I do not want your to aid me in far
ther fight. lam tired to death. My own
conscience, more pitiless than the
minions of the law, has pursued me for
years with whip of scorpions. l can
not escape its terrible lashings. can
not fly from my punishment if would,
and l am anxious it should be over.
Death would be welcome relief, il il
would but come"


Again we told the painting, weary
creature to tell none of her stories to us,
and advised her to go to the police head.
quarters and give herself into the hands
of the law, which would deal justly and,
we had no doubt, in view of her suffer
ings and remorse, mercifully with her.
cannot" she exclaimed, covering
her face with her hands and breaking
into convulsive sobs-"I / cannot, l can.
not You do not know that there are
other hearts would ache if gave myself
up and told all. | want to tell my story
to some one who will pity me and advise
me. There are those whose hands are
as dark with ineffaceable stains as mine
are, but who do not suffer the mental
agony that oppresses me. Shall |, in
order to escape the lashings of my own
conscience, cOnsign these, whose lives are
happy and whose hearts know no re-
morse, to the same punishment for which
yearng"


We asked her, for our curiosity con-
quered our caution, if it was possible
that one so young and fair was the cen
ter of wide-spreading circle of crime
that held in its horrid entanglements so
many others beside herself.


AYE" she said, bitterly, IF went
to the gallows through court of JUS
tice would lead with me, held by the
same terrible links of evidence, guilty
train of men hardened in crime and theiI
hands stepped in innocent blood"


"Woman! womanw we exclaimed, in
Mortified tones, :" in the name of Heaven
who and what are youf"


"Oh, Heaven help me-" she shrieked
in voice that chilled our marrow, 81
am old man Bender"


A weird, wild whoop rent the silence
of the sanctum, and the woman was
alone. There was q sound as of a rising
journalist scrambling up through thu
narrow copy-tube, and the next instant
bare head with quill over one ca
burst through the hatchway in the roof
and, followed by complete set of editO
rial anatomy, emerged, and running
briskly to the rear wall of the building
disappeared down the lightning rod anC
was seen no more until the next day a
three p, m. We never saw the woman
again, and wist not where she is, but w
smile in bitter derision whenever we rea,
that the police have arrested an old mai
answering the description of old maj
Bender burlington Hack Eye.