ny a man has heard the closing of
the vault as Albert Charlton did.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE PENITENTIARY.

It was a cold morning. The snow had fallen heavily the day before, and
the Stillwater stage was on runners. The four horses rushed round the
street-corners with eagerness as the driver, at a little past five
o'clock in the morning, moved about collecting passengers. From the
up-town hotels he drove in the light of the gas-lamps to the jail where
the deputy marshal, with his prisoner securely handcuffed, took his seat
and wrapped the robes about them both. Then at the down-town hotels they
took on other passengers. The Fuller House was the last call of all.

"Haven't you a back-seat?" The passenger partly spoke and partly coughed
out his inquiry.

"The back-seat is occupied by ladies," said the agent, "you will have to
take the front one."

"It will kill me to ride backwards," whined the desponding voice of
Minorkey, but as there were only two vacant seats he had no choice. He
put his daughter in the middle while he took the end of the seat and
resigned himself to death by retrograde motion. Miss Helen Minorkey was
thus placed exactly _vis-a-vis_ with her old lover Albert Charlton, but
in the darkness of six o'clock on a winter's morning in Minnesota, she
could not know it. The gentleman who occupied the other end of the seat
recognized Mr. Minorkey, and was by him introduced to his daughter. That
lady could not wholly resist the exhilaration of such a stage-ride over
snowy roads, only half-broken as yet, where there was imminent peril of
upsetting at every turn. And so she and her new acquaintance talked of
many things, while Charlton could not but recall his ride, a short
half-year ago, on a front-seat, over the green prairies--had prairies
ever been greener?--and under the blue sky, and in bright sunshine--had
the sun ever shone so brightly?--with this same quiet-voiced, thoughtful
Helen Minorkey. How soon had sunshine turned to darkness! How suddenly
had the blossoming spring-time changed to dreariest winter!

It is really delightful, this riding through the snow and darkness in a
covered coach on runners, this battling with difficulties. There is a
spice of adventure in it quite pleasant if you don't happen to be the
driver and have the battle to manage. To be a well-muffled passenger,
responsible for nothing, not even for your own neck, is thoroughly
delightful--provided always that you are not the