their kind and loving, look. Her golden hair was still
beautiful, and it seemed an aureole around her head.

One bright day she felt able to hold a longer conversation than before
with her betrothed. Very sat by the bedside, holding the thin white
hand. The slender finger could scarce retain the beautiful engagement
ring her lover had given her.

"Jasper, dear," she said, "how happy I am that I received the cruel
ball instead of you. All the suffering I have gladly borne for your
sake. Yes, and if it were my lot to be an invalid while life lasts, I
would willingly bear the burden, knowing that by the cross I suffer my
beloved is able in the full strength of his manhood to preach the
gospel and minister to the wants of human souls. So there are
compensations in all the ills of life."

"My precious one," said the preacher, "your words are those of her who
lives very near the heart of God. The finest thing in the world is
sacrifice and suffering for the benefit of others. But you must put far
away the idea of being a constant invalid. Gradually you are regaining
your health, and before long we shall see you as lively and jolly as
ever. By Christmas time I want to behold roses in your cheeks, and see
you skip about like a roe upon the mountains. Keep up a brave, trustful
spirit, and I believe all will be well."

He kissed his betrothed tenderly, stroked her beautiful hair, and
retired from the room.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A Battle With Moonshiners.

Sam Wiles and Zibe Turner, the monster dwarf, were not captured by the
sheriff and his men. For a number of days after the wounding of Viola
LeMonde the officers and others kept a sharp watch on the cabins of
both outlaws, and tried to find them in some of the fastnesses of the
hills. But the bandits were too cunning for them. They seldom dared to
enter their homes, but spent most of their time in the open or in the
shelter of the cave where the illicit whisky was made. Some of their
confederates were usually near them, ready to give them warning of any
officer's approach.

At last the climax came. It was a hot evening in mid-August. Judge
LeMonde was sitting under the pine trees, attempting to catch any
breeze which might blow from the river when, looking down the road
leading to the big gate, he saw a woman approaching.

It was Jemima Sneath, and she was evidently laboring under great
excitement. Her eyes were deep sunken and glowed like coals of fire.
They showe