face in a reddening wave.

"Let me go," said he, in a low, husky voice, "I am in your power; but be
magnanimous and release me. I throw myself on your generosity, not your
justice."

Arthur's sternly upbraiding eye softened into an expression of the
deepest sorrow, not unmingled with contempt, on beholding the
degradation of this splendidly endowed young man. He reminded him of a
fallen angel, with his glorious plumage all soiled and polluted with the
mire and corruption of earth. He never had had faith in his integrity;
be believed him to be the tempter of Louis, the deceiver of Mittie,
reckless and unprincipled where pleasure was concerned, but he did not
believe him capable of such a daring transgression. Had he been alone,
he would have released him, for his magnanimity and generosity would
have triumphed over his sense of justice, but legal authority was
present, and to that he was forced to submit.

"_I_ arrest you, sir, in virtue of my authority as sheriff of the
county," exclaimed Mr. Mason; "empty your pockets of the gold you have
purloined from this woman, and then follow me. Quick, or I'll give you
rough aid."

The pomp and aristocracy of Clinton's appearance and manners had made
him unpopular in the neighborhood, and it is not strange that a man whom
he had never condescended to notice should triumph in his disgrace. He
looked on with vindictive pleasure while Clinton, after a useless
resistance, produced the gold he had secreted, but Arthur turned away
his head in shame. He could not bear to witness the depth of his
degradation. His cheek burned with painful blushes, as the gold clinked
on the table, ringing forth the tale of Clinton's guilt.

"Now, sir, come along," cried the stern voice of the sheriff. "Doctor, I
leave the care of this to you."

While he was speaking, he drew a pair of hand-cuffs from his pocket,
which he had slipped in before leaving home, thinking they might come in
use.

"You shall not degrade me thus!" exclaimed Clinton, haughtily, writhing
in his grasp; "you shall never put those vile things on me!"

"Softly, softly, young gentleman," cried the sheriff, "I shall hurt your
fair wrists if you don't stand still. There, that will do. Come along.
No halting."

Arthur gave one glance towards the retreating form of Clinton, as he
passed through the door, with his haughty head now drooping on his
breast, wearing the iron badge of crime, and groaned in spirit, that so
fair a templ