A large house, a doll as big as herself, and a tender
face bending above her, comprised her store of reminiscences. Since the
death of her foster mother she had remained with friends, and was soon
to be united in marriage to Roye Howard, a rising young lawyer, reared
in Lexington, and established at Lancaster only a few months.

Talking confidingly of their promised happiness, the pair lingered among
the sylvan shades of the romantic spot till the waning sunlight bent
their steps homeward.

Next day was the regular County Court day in the village. The public
square was crowded with vehicles, live stock, and countrymen whose chief
pleasure was to mix in motley crowds, and to whose fancy an uproar of
some kind was ever welcome. On such occasions, in the somewhat lax
administering of justice of those early times, the killing of a fellow
creature seemed indeed a trifle light as air.

At a conspicuous corner of Danville street stood the house where
Daisy Templeton had found a temporary home. A number of ladies, wives
of the Judge and various lawyers, had assembled here to dine, a custom
prevalent upon public occasions. The group were deeply engrossed in
needle-work and cheerful conversation, when suddenly the crowds on the
square began surging and clamoring as though the turbulence of an angry
sea had been turned loose upon a peaceful plain, Shouts rose higher and
higher, till at last a pistol shot resounded, and the ladies that had
crowded to the front windows plainly distinguished the cry, "The Judge
is killed! Jim Burns has shot Judge Pierce!" and the mob rushed toward
the mouth of Danville street in pursuit of the desperado, a noted
character of the county.

Quickly passing out the back door of the parlor and closing it behind
her, Daisy reached the side door, opening on Danville street and heavily
shaded with trees, and flung the door to just as a man, pale and
terrified, darted in, almost throwing her to the floor.

"Save me!" was all he had breath to ejaculate.

"Up there!" she hurriedly exclaimed, pointing up the stairway toward the
attic; then slamming the door against the mob who were pressing upon the
steps, she turned the key in the lock and stood, awaiting she knew not
what. All this was the work of a moment, while the ladies in the parlor
were too intent upon watching the square for a glimpse of the Judge to
know that so important a scene was being enacted just behind them. Mrs.
Pierce had run down the f