e himself was one of them.

How much were the consolations of God needed here! how few, comparatively,
possessed them. But some there were who did, and were trying to impart
them to others. Should he stay and share in this good work? Perhaps he
ought; he almost thought so for a moment; but he remembered his country's
need; he had enlisted for the war; he must return to active service, if he
could.

Then his eye fell upon Harold. Here was a noble life to be saved; a life
that would inevitably be lost to friends, relatives, country, by but a few
weeks' longer sojourn in this horrible place. Duncan's determination was
taken: with the help of God the morning light should find them both free
and far on their way towards the Union lines.

"We'll try it, comrades, to-night," he said aloud.

"So we will," they answered with determination.

A man came staggering towards them, gesticulating wildly and swearing
horrible oaths.

"He is crazed with hunger, poor fellow," remarked Harold.

Duncan was gazing steadily at the man who had now sunk panting upon the
ground, exhausted by his own violence. Evidently he had once possessed
more than an ordinary share of physical beauty, but vice and evil passions
had set their stamp upon his features, and famine had done its ghastly
work; he was but a wreck of his former self.

"Where have I seen that face?" murmured Harry, unconsciously thinking
aloud.

"In the rogues' gallery, perhaps. Tom Jackson is his name, or one of his
names; for he has several aliases, I'm told," remarked some one standing
near.

"Yes, he's the very man!" exclaimed Harry. "I have studied his photograph
and recognize him fully, in spite of famine's ravages. The wretch! he
deserves all he suffers: and yet I pity him."

"What! the would-be assassin of Viamede?" and Harold started to his feet,
the hot blood dyeing his thin cheeks.

"The same. You feel like lynching him on the spot; and no wonder. But
refrain; _they_ would bid you, and he is already suffering a worse fate
than any you could mete out to him."

"God forgive me!" groaned Harold, dropping down again and hiding his face
in his hands, "I believe there was murder in my heart."

"The story? what was it?" asked Jones. "Tell it, Duncan; anything to help
us to a moment's forgetfulness."

The others joined in the request, and Duncan gave the full particulars of
the several attempts Jackson had made upon the lives of Mr. Travilla and
Elsie.

Allison