y bewildered in the mazes of the forest; and when at length
the deep silence around gave no further sound of pursuers, he sank
down to take breath, with no idea whatever in what direction the road
lay.

After a brief rest he arose and plunged deeper still into the forest,
so as to put an additional distance between himself and any possible
pursuit. He at length found himself at the foot of a precipice about
fifty feet in height, which was deep in the recesses of the forest. Up
this he climbed, and found a mossy place among the trees at its top,
where he could find rest, and at the same time be in a more favorable
position either for hearing or seeing any signs of approaching
pursuers.

Here, then, he flung himself down to rest, and soon buried himself
among thoughts of the most exciting kind. The scene which he had just
left was fresh in his mind, and amidst all the fury of that strife
there rose most prominent in his memory the form of the two ladies,
Minnie standing calm and unmoved, while Mrs. Willoughby was convulsed
with agitated feeling. What was the cause of that? Could it be
possible that his wife had indeed contrived such a plot with the
Italian? Was it possible that she had chosen this way of striking two
blows, by one of which she could win her Italian, and by the other of
which she could get rid of himself, her husband? Such had been his
conjecture during the fury of the fight, and the thought had roused
him up to his Berserker madness; but now, as it recurred again, he saw
other things to shake his full belief. Her agitation seemed too
natural.

Yet, on the other hand, he asked himself, why should she not show
agitation? She was a consummate actress. She could show on her
beautiful face the softness and the tenderness of an angel of light
while a demon reigned in her malignant heart. Why should she not
choose this way of keeping up appearances? She had betrayed her
friends, and sought her husband's death; but would she wish to have
her crime made manifest? Not she. It was for this, then, that she wept
and clung to the child-angel.

Such thoughts as these were not at all adapted to give comfort to his
mind, or make his rest refreshing. Soon, by such fancies, he kindled
anew his old rage, and his blood rose to fever heat, so that inaction
became no longer tolerable. He had rest enough. He started up, and
looked all around, and listened attentively. No sound arose and no
sight appeared which at all excit