g out
as much for his own sake as for hers; accomplishing the fulfillment
of his own purposes under the cloak of obedience to her orders. He
was the destroying angel, and his mission was death. He could not
know of the change which had come over her; nor could he dream of the
possibility of a change. She alone could bring a reprieve from that
death, and stay his hand.

Haste, then--she murmured to herself--oh, haste, or if will soon be
too late! Fly! Leave every thing and fly! Every hour brings him
nearer to death until that hour comes when you may save him from
death. Haste, or it may be too late--and the mercy and the pity and
the tenderness of love may be all unavailing!

It was with the frantic haste which was born of this new-found pity
that Hilda prepared for her journey. Her preparations were not
extensive. A little luggage sufficed. She did not wish a maid. She
had all her life relied upon herself, and now set forth upon this
fateful journey alone and unattended, with her heart filled with one
feeling only, and only one hope. It needed but a short time to
complete her preparations, and to announce to the astonished
domestics her intention of going to the Continent. Without noticing
their amazement, or caring for it, she ordered the carriage for the
nearest station, and in a short time after her first decision she was
seated in the cars and hurrying onward to London.

Arriving there, she made a short stay. She had some things to procure
which were to her of infinite importance. Leaving the hotel, she went
down Oxford Street till she came to a druggist's shop, which she
entered, and, going up to the clerk, she handed him a paper, which
looked like a doctor's prescription. The clerk took it, and, after
looking at it, carried it to an inner office. After a time the
proprietor appeared. He scanned Hilda narrowly, while she returned
his glance with her usual haughtiness. The druggist appeared
satisfied with his inspection.

"Madame," said he, politely, "the ingredients of this prescription
are of such a nature that the law requires me to know the name and
address of the purchaser, so as to enter them on the purchase book."

"My address," said Hilda, quietly, "is Mrs. Henderson, 51 Euston
Square."

The druggist bowed, and entered the name carefully on his book, after
which he himself prepared the prescription and handed it to Hilda.

She asked the price, and, on hearing it, flung down a sovereign,
after which