feet. Suddenly he stopped and whispered:

"You'd better go now. I can take care of myself, but if those cursed
officers should take a notion to look around, it would go hard with
_you_. Run, God bless you, run!"

But little Guzzy straightened himself and folded his arms.

The convict rasped away rapidly, and finally dropped the file and the
fragments of the last fetter. Then he seized little Guzzy's hand.

"My friend," said he, "criminal though I am, I am man enough to
appreciate your manliness and honor. I think I am smart enough to keep
myself free, now I am out of jail. But, if ever you want a friend, tell
Helen, _she_ will know where I am, and I will serve you, no matter what
the risk and pain."

"Thank you," said Guzzy; "but the only favor I'll ever ask of you might
as well be named now, and you ought to be able to do it without risk or
pain either. It's only this; be an honest man, for Helen's sake."

Beigh dropped his head.

"There _are_ men who would die daily for the sake of making her happy,
but you've put it out of their power, seeing you've married her,"
continued Guzzy. "_I'm_ nothing to her, and can't be, but for her sake
to-night I've broken open the gunsmith's shop, broken a jail, and"--here
he stooped, and picked up a bundle--"robbed my own employer's store of a
suit of clothes for you, so you mayn't be caught again in those prison
stripes. If I've made myself a criminal for her sake: can't her husband
be an honest man for the same reason?"

The convict wrung the hand of his preserver. He seemed to be trying to
speak, but to have some great obstruction in his throat.

Suddenly a bright light shone on the two men, and a voice was heard
exclaiming, in low but very ferocious tones:

"Do it, you scoundrel, or I'll put a bullet through your head!"

Both men looked up to the window of the cell, and saw a bull's-eye
lantern, the muzzle of a pistol, and the face of the Bowerton constable.

The constable's right eye, the sights of his pistol and the breast of
the convict were on the same visual line.

Without altering his position or that of his weapon, the constable
whispered:

"I've had you covered for the last ten minutes. I only held in to find
out who was helping you; but I heard too much for _my_ credit as a
faithful officer. Now, what are you going to do?"

"Turn over a new leaf," said the convict, bursting into tears.

"Then get out," whispered the officer, "and be lively, too--it's a