t I dare not disobey the command. It might
endanger the soul of my child, which is dearer than her life. Think,
dear child, in a moment, you will be in Paradise. It is only one short
pang, and all is over. Let me kiss you first."

He stooped down, he inclosed her in his arms, and strained her to
his heart--he imprinted innumerable kisses on her lips, her eyes, her
cheeks, her forehead--he groaned, and large drops of sweat stood on
his face, pressed out by the agony.

"You will see your mother and my brother George, Faith. Tell them not
to blame me. I could not help it. You will not blame me, I know. You
never blamed me even in a thought. I wish it was for you to kill me.
The father, it would seem ought to go first, and I am very weary of
life."

He raised the knife, and Faith, with upturned and straining eyes, saw
it glittering in the sunshine. She strove to cry out, but in vain.
From the parched throat no sound proceeded. She saw the point about
to enter her bosom. She shut her eyes, and mentally prayed for her
father. At that moment, as the deadly instrument approached her heart,
she heard a voice exclaim, "Madman forbear!" She opened her eyes:
the knife had dropped from her father's hand; he staggered and leaned
against the altar. A few words will explain the timely interruption.

When Armstrong and his daughter left the carriage to cross the field,
the mind of Felix was filled with a thousand apprehensions. He would
have followed had he dared to leave the horses, but this, his fear of
the consequences if the high-spirited animals were left to themselves,
forbade. With anxious eyes he pursued the receding foot-steps of his
master and young mistress until they were lost to sight, and then,
with a foreboding of evil, hid his face in the flowing mane of one of
the horses, as if seeking comfort from his dumb companion. Some little
time passed, which to the fearful Felix seemed hours, when, whom
should he see but the man whom of all the world he dreaded most. It
was Holden, bounding along with strides which showed that the
habits of his forest-life were not forgotten. At any other time the
apparition of the Solitary would have imparted anything but pleasure,
but now it was as welcome as a spar to a shipwrecked sailor. Holden
advanced straight to the carriage, but before he could speak the black
addressed him,

"Oh, Mr. Holden, if you love Mr. Armstrong and Miss Faith, go after
them quick; don't stop a minute."

"W