tered.

"Yes, miss, here it is," replied the boy, handing a neatly folded,
highly perfumed little note.

"Go," said Cap, curtly, as she received it.

And when the boy had bowed and withdrawn, she threw herself into a
chair, and with little respect for the pretty device of the pierced
heart with which the note was sealed, she tore it open and devoured its
contents.

Why did Capitola's cheeks and lips blanch white as death? Why did her
eyes contract and glitter like stilettoes? Why was her breath drawn
hard and laboriously through clenched teeth and livid lips?

That note was couched in the most insulting terms.

Capitola's first impulse was to rend the paper to atoms and grind those
atoms to powder beneath her heel. But a second inspiration changed her
purpose.

"No--no--no! I will not destroy you, precious little note! No legal
document involving the ownership of the largest estate, no cherished
love letter filled with vows of undying affection, shall be more
carefully guarded! Next to my heart shall you lie. My shield and
buckler shall you be! My sure defense and justification! I know what to
do with you, my precious little jewel! You are the warrant for the
punishment of that man, signed by his own hand." And so saying Capitola
carefully deposited the note in her bosom.

Then she lighted her chamber lamp, and, taking it with her, went
down-stairs to her uncle's bedroom.

Taking advantage of the time when she knew he would be absorbed in a
game of chess with John Stone, and she should be safe from interruption
for several hours if she wished, she went to Major Warfield's little
armory in the closet adjoining his room, opened his pistol case and
took from it a pair of revolvers, closed and locked the case, and
withdrew and hid the key that they might not chance to be missed until
she should have time to replace them.

Then she hurried back into her own chamber, locked the pistols up in
her own drawer, and, wearied out with so much excitement, prepared to
go to rest. Here a grave and unexpected obstacle met her; she had
always been accustomed to kneel and offer up to heaven her evening's
tribute of praise and thanksgiving for the mercies of the day, and
prayers for protection and blessing through the night.

Now she knelt as usual, but thanksgiving and prayer seemed frozen on
her lips! How could she praise or pray with such a purpose as she had
in her heart?

For the first time Capitola doubted the perfec