, rushing between, strikes up the muzzles,
crying:--

"Don't shoot, Sime! Hold your fire, Heywood! His life belongs to me!"

Strange forbearance; to the backwoodsmen, incomprehensible! But they
obey; and again Richard Darke escapes chastisement for two great crimes
he intended, but by good fortune failed to accomplish.

CHAPTER SIXTY THREE.

AN OATH TO BE KEPT.

No pen could portray the feelings of Helen Armstrong, on recognising her
rescuer. Charles Clancy alive! Is she dreaming? Or is it indeed he
whose arms are around, folding her in firm but tender embrace? Under
the moonbeams, that seem to have suddenly become brighter, she beholds
the manly form and noble features of him she believed dead, his cheeks
showing the hue of health, his eyes late glaring in angry excitement,
now glowing with the softer light of love. Yes: it is indeed her lover
long mourned, living, breathing, beautiful as ever!

She asks not if he be still true, that doubt has been long since
dissipated. It needs not his presence there, nor what he has just done,
to reassure her.

For a time she asks no questions; neither he. Both are too absorbed
with sweet thoughts to care for words. Speech could not heighten their
happiness, in the midst of caresses and kisses.

On his side there is no backwardness now; on hers no coyness, no mock
modesty. They come together not as at their last interview, timid
sweethearts, but lovers emboldened by betrothal. For she knows, that he
proposed to her; as he, that her acceptance was sent, and miscarried.
It has reached him nevertheless; he has it upon his person now--both the
letter and portrait. About the last are his first words. Drawing it
out, and holding it up to the light, he asks playfully:

"Helen; was it meant fo' me?"

"No," she evasively answers, "it was meant for me."

"Oh! the likeness, yes; but the inscript--these pleasant words written
underneath?"

"Put it back into; our pocket, Charles. And now tell me all. Am I
dreaming? Or is it indeed reality?"

No wonder she should so exclaim. Never was transformation quicker, or
more complete. But a few seconds before she was, as it were, in the
clutches of the devil; now an angel is by her side, a seraph with soft
wings to shelter, and strong arms to protect her. She feels as one,
who, long lingering at the door of death, has health suddenly and
miraculously restored, with the prospect of a prolonged and happy life.

Cla