able, he tore a letter out of
his bosom, and flung it down before his father.

"Read that, thou hard old man, that didst imprison thy son, read, and
see what monsters thou hast brought into the world, The memory of my
wrongs and hers dwell with you all for ever! I will meet you again at
the judgment day; on earth ye will never see me more."

And in a moment, as he had come, so he was gone, leaving them stiff, and
cold, and white as statues round the smoking board.

And this was the sight that greeted Margaret's eyes and Jorian's--pale
figures of men and women petrified around the untasted food, as Eastern
poets feigned.

Margaret glanced her eye round, and gasped out, "Oh, joy! all here; no
blood hath been shed. Oh, you cruel, cruel men! I thank God he hath not
slain you."

At sight of her Catherine gave an eloquent scream; then turned her head
away. But Eli, who had just cast his eye over the false letter, and
begun to understand it all, seeing the other victim come in at that very
moment with her wrongs reflected in her sweet, pale face, started to his
feet in a transport of rage, and shouted, "Stand clear, and let me get
at the traitors, I'll hang for them," And in a moment he whipped out his
short sword, and fell upon them.

"Fly!" screamed Margaret. "Fly!"

They slipped howling under the table, and crawled out the other side.

But ere they could get to the door, the furious old man ran round and
intercepted them. Catherine only screamed and wrung her hands; your
notables are generally useless at such a time; and blood would certainly
have flowed, but Margaret and Jorian seized the fiery old man's arms,
and held them with all their might, whilst the pair got clear of the
house; then they let him go; and he went vainly raging after them out
into the street.

They were a furlong off, running like hares.

He hacked down the board on which their names were written, and brought
it indoors, and flung it into the chimney-place. Catherine was sitting
rocking herself with her apron over her head. Joan had run to her
husband. Margaret had her arms round Catherine's neck; and pale and
panting, was yet making efforts to comfort her.

But it was not to be done, "Oh, my poor children!" she cried. "Oh,
miserable mother! 'Tis a mercy Kate was ill upstairs. There, I have
lived to thank God for that!" she cried, with a fresh burst of sobs. "It
would have killed her. He had better have stayed in Italy, as come home
to cu