ernicious of which I performed twice a day (lunching at the
schoolhouse) the humble rite of cementing the alliance between soul and
body. From this "hostelry" (as the local journal preferred to call it
when it did not call it a "caravanserai") to the schoolhouse the
distance by the wagon road was about a mile and a half; but there was a
trail, very little used, which led over an intervening range of low,
heavily wooded hills, considerably shortening the distance. By this
trail I was returning one evening later than usual. It was the last day
of the term and I had been detained at the schoolhouse until almost
dark, preparing an account of my stewardship for the trustees--two of
whom, I proudly reflected, would be able to read it, and the third (an
instance of the dominion of mind over matter) would be overruled in his
customary antagonism to the schoolmaster of his own creation.

I had gone not more than a quarter of the way when, finding an interest
in the antics of a family of lizards which dwelt thereabout and seemed
full of reptilian joy for their immunity from the ills incident to life
at the Brownville House, I sat upon a fallen tree to observe them. As I
leaned wearily against a branch of the gnarled old trunk the twilight
deepened in the somber woods and the faint new moon began casting
visible shadows and gilding the leaves of the trees with a tender but
ghostly light.

I heard the sound of voices--a woman's, angry, impetuous, rising against
deep masculine tones, rich and musical. I strained my eyes, peering
through the dusky shadows of the wood, hoping to get a view of the
intruders on my solitude, but could see no one. For some yards in each
direction I had an uninterrupted view of the trail, and knowing of no
other within a half mile thought the persons heard must be approaching
from the wood at one side. There was no sound but that of the voices,
which were now so distinct that I could catch the words. That of the man
gave me an impression of anger, abundantly confirmed by the matter
spoken.

"I will have no threats; you are powerless, as you very well know. Let
things remain as they are or, by God! you shall both suffer for it."

"What do you mean?"--this was the voice of the woman, a cultivated
voice, the voice of a lady. "You would not--murder us."

There was no reply, at least none that was audible to me. During the
silence I peered into the wood in hope to get a glimpse of the speakers,
for I felt