cy bring an old servant rushing
into the room, the report of a pistol rings out upon the still air,
shriek after shriek follows, mingled with piercing moans, and
death-struggles. "Ha, ha!" says the avenger, looking on with a sardonic
smile upon his face, and a curl of hate upon his lip, "I have taken the
life to which I gave my own--yes, I have taken it--I have taken it!" And
she writhes her body, and sets her eyes fixedly upon him, as he hastens
out of the room.

"Quick! quick!" he says to himself. "There, then! I am pursued!" He
recrosses the millpond over another bridge, and in his confusion turns a
short angle into a lane leading to the city. The yelping of dogs, the
deep, dull tramp of hoofs, the echoing of voices, the ominous baying
and scenting of blood-hounds--all break upon his ear in one terrible
chaos. Not a moment is to be lost. The sight at the villa will attract
the attention of his pursuers, and give him time to make a distance! The
thought of what he has done, and the terrible death that awaits him,
crowds upon his mind, and rises up before him like a fierce monster of
retribution. He rushes at full speed down the lane, vaults across a
field into the main road, only to find his pursuers close upon him. The
patrol along the streets have caught the alarm, which he finds spreading
with lightning-speed. The clank of side-arms, the scenting and baying of
the hounds, coming louder and louder, nearer and nearer, warns him of
the approaching danger. A gate at the head of a wharf stands open, the
hounds are fast gaining upon him, a few jumps more and they will have
him fast in their ferocious grasp. He rushes through the gate, down the
wharf, the tumultuous cry of his pursuers striking terror into his very
heart. Another instant and the hounds are at his feet, he stands on the
capsill at the end, gives one wild, despairing look into the abyss
beneath--"I die revenged," he shouts, discharges a pistol into his
breast, and with one wild plunge, is buried forever in the water
beneath. The dark stream of an unhappy life has run out. Upon whom does
the responsibility of this terrible closing rest? In the words of
Thomson, the avenger left behind him only "Gaunt Beggary, and Scorn,
with many hell-hounds more."

When the gray dawn of morning streamed in through the windows of the
little villa, and upon the parlor table, that had so often been adorned
with caskets and fresh-plucked flowers, there, in their stead, lay the