windows shook. It was there, _there_, always THERE! He did not see
it--but it was _there_! He felt its breath, its eye, its influence. It
leaned across his shoulder; it gossiped with the shadows; it laid its
hand heavily upon his pocket where lay the unholy gold. Some prints of
saints and the Virgin upon the wall troubled him; their faces followed
him wherever he turned; he tore them down at length, and tossed them in
the fire, but they blazed with so great flame that he cried out for
fear.

The town-bells struck the hours; how far apart were the strokes! They
tolled rather than pealed, as if for an execution, and the lamps of some
passing carriages made a journey as of torches upon the ceiling.

After nine o'clock there was a heavy tread upon the stairs. It kept him
company, and he was glad of its coming; but it drew so close, at length,
that he stood upright, with the cold sweat upon his forehead.

The steps halted at his threshold; the door swung open; a corporal and a
soldier stood without, and the former saluted formally:

"Monsieur the stranger, will remain in his chamber under guard. I grieve
to say that he is an object of grave suspicion. _Au revoir!_"

The corporal retired without waiting for a reply; the soldier entered,
and, leaning his musket against the wall, drew a chair before the door
and sat down. The firelight fell upon his face after a moment, and
revealed to Mr. Plade his old associate, Pisgah!

The former uttered a cry of hope and surprise; the soldier waved him
back with a menace.

"I know you," he said; "but I am here upon duty; besides, I have no
friendship with a murderer."

"We are both victims of a mistake! This accusation is not true. Will you
take my hand?"

"I am forbidden to speak upon guard," answered Pisgah, sullenly. "Resume
your chair."

"At least join me in a glass."

"There is blood in it," said Pisgah.

"I swear to you, no! Let me ring for your old beverage, absinthe."

The soldier halted, irresolutely; the liquor came before he could
refuse. When once his lips touched the vessel, Mr. Plade knew that there
was still a chance for life.

In an hour Mr. Pisgah was impotent from intoxication; his musket was
flung down the stairway, the door was bolted upon him, and the prisoner
was gone.

He gained the Planter's deck as the screw made its first revolution;
they turned the channel-piles with a good-by gun; the motley crew
cheered heartily as they cleared the mole.