ive you joy of your marriage."

"Wretched woman!" said the sexton, "you poisoned her. By your hand she
died."

"You are mistaken," answered the old woman, with a bitter smile. "She
is not dead, but sleepeth. You see the devil can quote Scripture. It
was my first intention to have poisoned her; but my second thoughts
were better. So, instead of the medicine you sought, I gave you a
powerful narcotic, which has thrown her into a deep sleep. She lies,
at this moment, you know, in the chapel of St. Hubert's. There are
flowers on her coffin, and there is a shroud around her. If I am not
very much mistaken, about this hour she awakes."

"And perishes! Fiend in human shape, how you have deceived me! At this
hour, remote from help, my Margaret is dying."

"She is not your Margaret, neither is she dying," said the crone.
"Listen to me. I sent a trusty messenger to him that Margaret
loves--to him who loves her fondly and faithfully--and if all things
have gone as well as I anticipate, by this time she is in his arms.
The draught she drank is harmless."

"Cursed deceiver!" cried the sexton, struggling frantically to free
himself from the ligatures which bound him. "You have done an accursed
deed. You have deprived me of my betrothed bride."

"Your betrothed bride!" said the queen of the gypsies. "Behold her!"
She waved her hand, and Myra stood before the sexton of St. Hubert's.
"There she stands," said the gypsy. "Have you forgotten that your
troth is plighted to her? The bride and the priest are ready. Man of
guilt and passion, wed her you may, wed her you must!"

"Never!" cried the sexton. "When I sought your lawless crew to indulge
my love of revelling and pleasure, the person of Myra lighted a fire
in my breast. But it was an unholy flame. I will never marry her. Let
her live--live to be branded with infamy and disgrace!"

"Ha!" cried the crone, rising from her seat. "Is it so? Speak, Myra!
child of my heart, is it so?"

The gypsy girl clasped her hands together, and hung her head in shame.
Her cheeks were suffused with crimson; then they became deadly pale,
and she sank lifeless on the ground.

"You have killed her!" shrieked the gypsy queen, "and dearly shall you
rue it."

She placed a whistle to her lips, and blew a shrill blast. But she
received a far different answer than she had anticipated; for one of
the sheriff's men had succeeded in escaping from the hands of the
gypsy crew, and galloped to the neighbor