n, from the report of the scouts who were made use of on such
occasions, that the convict had not left that covert to seek shelter in
any hamlet in the neighborhood; the quest was therefore still continued.
Not, however, until three weeks afterward was No. 421 discovered. It was
supposed that the unhappy fugitive had died of his wounds upon the very
night of his escape, for the body was so decomposed that it could never
have been identified but for its convict clothes; the nights had been
wet and tempestuous, and it lay in an unsheltered part of the wood, a
mere sodden heap of what had been once humanity. The bullet that had
been the cause of death was, however, detected in the remains.

What an end to the high-spirited, handsome lad that had been the pride
of his mother, the joy of his betrothed! What wonder that they sat over
the bald record of it with bowed-down faces, and filled up the gaps with
only too easily imagined horrors! Each kept hold of the other's hand, as
though in sign of the dread bond between them, and sat close to one
another in silence. Presently Harry started up, at the sound of a
latch-key in the house door.

"That is Solomon," cried she.

"Impossible," said Mrs. Basil. "He told me himself that he should stop
for the last day's sale, and to-day is but the fifth."

"Hush! it is."

Yes, it was certainly Solomon's voice in the passage; and apparently, by
the answering tone, he had a male companion with him.

Harry seized the letter, with its inclosures, and thrust them into her
bosom, which, full of grief for his victim, seemed to spurn her
husband's approach. Then she heard him calling her impatiently, as was
his wont, from the foot of the stairs.

"Harry, come down; I have brought a gentleman home with me. Let's have
something to eat at once, will you?"

"Answer him--answer him!" gasped Harry. She could not speak; her tongue
seemed paralyzed.

Mrs. Basil rose at once, walked with steady step to the door, and opened
it. "Your wife is here, Mr. Coe. I am glad you are come home, for she is
far from well, and I was getting quite nervous about her."

"She _must_ be ill," grumbled Solomon, "not to be able to say 'Here,'
when I am breaking a blood-vessel with holloing to her in the attics.
Come in here, Sir." This to his companion--a man considerably his
senior, thin and spare, who stood peering curiously at the landlady. "I
am sorry to see you unwell, wife. I have brought a friend to stay with