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“I catch him. Not catch any other—Mexican.” The way the Indian said the last word showed the contempt he felt for the boy who had sold out his friends.,

Little by little the boy fed the smoldering ravelings of his shirt with the other piles, holding in the center of the glowing coal the smallest of the sticks.,

Hippolitus, who had languished under a long and dangerous illness occasioned by his wounds, but heightened and prolonged by the distress of his mind, was detained in a small town in the coast of Calabria, and was yet ignorant of the death of Cornelia. He scarcely doubted that Julia was now devoted to the duke, and this thought was at times poison to his heart. After his arrival in Calabria, immediately on the recovery of his senses, he dispatched a servant back to the castle of Mazzini, to gain secret intelligence of what had passed after his departure. The eagerness with which we endeavour to escape from misery, taught him to encourage a remote and romantic hope that Julia yet lived for him. Yet even this hope at length languished into despair, as the time elapsed which should have brought his servant from Sicily. Days and weeks passed away in the utmost anxiety to Hippolitus, for still his emissary did not appear; and at last, concluding that he had been either seized by robbers, or discovered and detained by the marquis, the Count sent off a second emissary to the castle of Mazzini. By him he learned the news of Julia's flight, and his heart dilated with joy; but it was suddenly checked when he heard the marquis had discovered her retreat in the abbey of St Augustin. The wounds which still detained him in confinement, now became intolerable. Julia might yet be lost to him for ever. But even his present state of fear and uncertainty was bliss compared with the anguish of despair, which his mind had long endured.,

Your words have stabbed my heart. No power on earth could restore the peace you have destroyed. I will escape from my torture. When you read this, I shall be no more. But the triumph shall no longer be yours—the draught you have drank was given by the hand of the injured

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When he reached the edge of the river Bob slipped into the water with as little noise as possible. Keeping close to the dam he found that he could make fair headway by half swimming and half walking along the slanting boards which held the Rio Grande in check. His plan was desperate, yet it was the only one that seemed feasible. Miguel would probably set a rather long fuse, one long enough to allow him to get safely away. “If I can only get there before the fuse has burned to the first stick of dynamite!” gasped Bob to himself.,

Steve Whitney shook his head. “No—but I’ll tell you all about it as we go to the hotel. Grab your satchel and come along.”,

Again little Johnny Blossom had a feeling that something was expected of him. So he stood up, put his heels together, bowed as well as he could in the moving carriage, and said: “Good-by! I thank you all. Good-by!”,

Having determined which way to pursue, he pushed his horse into a gallop, and entered the forest as the last rays of the sun trembled on the mountains. The thick foliage of the trees threw a gloom around, which was every moment deepened by the shades of evening. The path was uninterrupted, and the count continued to follow it till all distinction was confounded in the veil of night. Total darkness now made it impossible for him to pursue his way. He dismounted, and fastening his horse to a tree, climbed among the branches, purposing to remain there till morning.