feeling of fear, or rather repulsion. A man of large stature is seen
loitering under the shadow of a tree, and looking at her as though he
would devour her. Even in his figure there is an expression of sinister
and slouching brutality. Still more on his face, visible by the light
of a lamp which beams over the entrance door of the hotel. The young
girl does not stay to scrutinise it; but shrinking back, cowers by the
side of her sister.

"What's the matter, Jess?" asks Helen, observing her frayed aspect, and
in turn becoming the supporter. "You've seen something to vex you?
something of--Luis?"

"No--no, Helen. Not him."

"Who then?"

"Oh, sister! A man fearful to look at. A great rough fellow, ugly
enough to frighten any one. I've met him several times when out
walking, and every time it's made me shudder."

"Has he been rude to you?"

"Not exactly rude, though something like it. He stares at me in a
strange way. And such horrid eyes! They're hollow, gowlish like an
alligator's. I'd half a mind to tell father, or Luis, about it; but I
know Luis would go wild, and want to kill the big brute. I saw him just
now, standing on the side-walk close by. No doubt he's there still."

"Let me have a look at those alligator eyes."

The fearless elder sister, defiant from very despair, steps out to the
rail, and leaning over, looks along the street.

She sees men passing; but no one who answers to the description given.

There is one standing under a tree, but not in the place of which Jessie
has spoken; he is on the opposite side of the street. Neither is he a
man of large size, but rather short and slight. He is in shadow,
however, and she cannot be sure of this.

At the moment he moves off, and his gait attracts her attention; then
his figure, and, finally, his face, as the last comes under the
lamp-light. They attract and fix it, sending a cold shiver through her
frame.

It was a fancy her thinking she saw Charles Clancy among the tree-tops.
Is it a like delusion, that now shows her his assassin in the streets of
Natchitoches? No; it cannot be! It is a reality; assuredly the man
moving off is _Richard Darke_!

She has it on her tongue to cry "murderer!" and raise a "hue and cry;"
but cannot. She feels paralysed, fascinated; and stands speechless, not
stirring, scarce breathing.

Thus, till the assassin is out of sight.

Then she totters back to the side of her sister, to tell in trembling