foremost among whom I dimly saw the face of Jasper Wilde outlined amidst
the jeering throng.

"To hasten the telling of an unpleasant tale, I will say he ejected me,
the while hurling the most insulting epithets at me. Then he spoke of
_you_, Bernardine, and--and turning upon him with the ferocity of an
enraged lion, I swore that I would kill him on sight.

"'Beware! take care,' laughed Jasper Wilde, turning to my enemy; 'the
old basket-maker always keeps his word. You are in danger, my boy.'

"At this the crowd jeered. I hurried away. I never remembered how far I
walked to still the throbbing of my heart and cool the fever in my
veins.

"At length I turned my steps toward home. How far I had traversed in the
darkness I did not take note of; but as I was hurrying along, I heard a
loud cry for help. I ran around the corner from which it seemed to
proceed, and then I fell headlong across the body of a man lying prone
upon the pavement.

"I drew a box of matches from my pocket, and hastily struck one. Yes, it
was a man dying with a wound in his breast, made from a clasp-knife,
which still stuck in it.

"In horror I snatched the knife away; and as I did so, the blood from
the wound spurted up into my face and covered my clothes. In that
instant I made the awful discovery that the knife was my own. I must
have lost it from my pocket during my encounter with my enemy, who kept
the wine-room.

"By the flickering light of the half-burned match, which I held down to
the man's face, I saw--oh, God! how shall I tell it?--I saw that the man
who had been murdered with my knife was the man whom I had sworn before
the crowd I would kill on sight.

"As I made this startling discovery, a man laid a heavy hand on my
shoulder, and Jasper Wilde's voice, with a demoniac ring, cried in my
horrified ears:

"'I see you have kept your word, David Moore! You have murdered your
enemy!'

"All in vain I protested my innocence. He only laughed at me, jeered at
my agony with diabolical glee.

"'You will be hanged,' he said. 'Of course, you realize that, David
Moore.'

"'I would not care for my life--what became of me--if it were not for
Bernardine!' I moaned, wildly.

"'Yes, it _is_ a pity for Bernardine,' he made answer. 'I am sorry for
you on her account. How sad it will be to see you torn away from her,
and she all alone in the world! Moore,' he hissed, close to my ear, 'for
her sake, and upon one condition, I will save you from