ch, where a clerical friend will be in attendance to perform the
marriage ceremony. Clara Day, if you would save your honor, look to
this!"

All this time Clara had neither moved nor spoken nor breathed. She had
stood cold, white and still as if turned to stone.

"Let no vain hope of escape delude your mind. The doors will be kept
locked; the servants are all warned not to suffer you to leave the
house. Look to it, Clara, for the rising of another sun shall see my
purpose accomplished!"

And with these words the atrocious wretch left the room. His departure
took off the dreadful spell that had paralyzed Clara's life; her blood
began to circulate again; breath came to her lungs and speech to her
lips.

"Oh, Lord," she cried, "oh, Lord, who delivered the children from the
fiery furnace, deliver the poor handmaiden now from her terrible foes!"

While she thus prayed she saw upon the writing table before her a small
penknife. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightened as she seized it.

"This! this!" she said, "this small instrument is sufficient to save
me! Should the worst ensue, I know where to find the carotid artery,
and even such a slight puncture as my timorous hand could make would
set my spirit free! Oh, my father! oh, my father! you little thought
when you taught your Clara the mysteries of anatomy to what a fearful
use she would put your lessons! And would it be right? Oh, would it be
right? One may desire death, but can anything justify suicide? Oh,
Father in heaven, guide me! guide me!" cried Clara, falling upon her
knees and sobbing forth this prayer of agony.

Soon approaching footsteps drew her attention. And she had only time to
rise and put back her damp, disheveled hair from her tear-stained face
before the door opened and Dorcas Knight appeared and said:

"Here is this young woman come again."

"I declare, Miss Day," said Cap, laughing, "you have the most
accomplished, polite and agreeable servants here that I ever met with!
Think with what a courteous welcome this woman received me--' Here you
are again!' she said. 'You'll come once too often for your own good,
and that I tell you.' I answered that every time I came it appeared to
be once too often for her liking. She rejoined, 'The colonel has come
home, and he don't like company, so I advise you to make your call a
short one.' I assured her that I should measure the length of my visit
by the breadth of my will--But good angels, Clara! what i