tess; the other the
treacherous abigail. Their faces evinced their terror.

"Woman," I said, seizing the last, "where is Miss Trevanion?" Instead of
replying, the woman set up a loud shriek. Another light now gleamed from
the staircase which immediately faced the door, and I heard a voice,
that I recognized as Peacock's, cry out, "Who's there?--What's the
matter?"

I made a rush at the stairs. A burly form (that of the landlord, who had
recovered from my blow) obstructed my way for a moment, to measure its
length on the floor at the next. I was at the top of the stairs; Peacock
recognized me, recoiled, and extinguished the light. Oaths, cries, and
shrieks now resounded through the dark. Amidst them all I suddenly heard
a voice exclaim, "Here, here! help!" It was the voice of Fanny. I made
my way to the right, whence the voice came, and received a violent blow.
Fortunately it fell on the arm which I extended, as men do who feel
their way through the dark. It was not the right arm, and I seized and
closed on my assailant. Roland now came up, a candle in his hand; and at
that sight my antagonist, who was no other than Peacock, slipped from me
and made a rush at the stairs. But the Captain caught him with his grasp
of iron. Fearing nothing for Roland in a contest with any single foe,
and all my thoughts bent on the rescue of her whose voice again broke on
my ear, I had already (before the light of the candle which Roland held
went out in the struggle between himself and Peacock) caught sight of
a door at the end of the passage, and thrown myself against it: it was
locked, but it shook and groaned to my pressure.

"Hold back, whoever you are," cried a voice from the room within, far
different from that wail of distress which had guided my steps. "Hold
back at the peril of your life!"

The voice, the threat, redoubled my strength: the door flew from its
fastenings. I stood in the room. I saw Fanny at my feet, clasping
my hands; then raising herself, she hung on my shoulder and murmured
"Saved!" Opposite to me, his face deformed by passion, his eyes
literally blazing with savage fire, his nostrils distended, his lips
apart, stood the man I have called Francis Vivian.

"Fanny--Miss Trevanion--what outrage, what villany is this? You have not
met this man at your free choice,--oh, speak!" Vivian sprang forward.

"Question no one but me. Unhand that lady,--she is my betrothed; shall
be my wife."

"No, no, no,--don't believ