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Pity, surprize, and admiration struggled in the breast of Hippolitus; and while he stood surveying the object which excited these different emotions, he heard a step advancing towards the room. He flew to the door by which he had entered, and was fortunate enough to reach it before the entrance of the persons whose steps he heard. Having turned the key, he stopped at the door to listen to their proceedings. He distinguished the voices of two men, and knew them to be those of the assassins. Presently he heard a piercing skriek, and at the same instant the voices of the ruffians grew loud and violent. One of them exclaimed that the lady was dying, and accused the other of having frightened her to death, swearing, with horrid imprecations, that she was his, and he would defend her to the last drop of his blood. The dispute grew higher; and neither of the ruffians would give up his claim to the unfortunate object of their altercation.,

He now for the first time stopped to listen—the sounds of pursuit were ceased, and all was silent! Continuing to wander on in effectual endeavours to escape, his hands at length touched cold iron, and he quickly perceived it belonged to a door. The door, however, was fastened, and resisted all his efforts to open it. He was giving up the attempt in despair, when a loud scream from within, followed by a dead and heavy noise, roused all his attention. Silence ensued. He listened for a considerable time at the door, his imagination filled with images of horror, and expecting to hear the sound repeated. He then sought for a decayed part of the door, through which he might discover what was beyond; but he could find none; and after waiting some time without hearing any farther noise, he was quitting the spot, when in passing his arm over the door, it struck against something hard. On examination he perceived, to his extreme surprize, that the key was in the lock. For a moment he hesitated what to do; but curiosity overcame other considerations, and with a trembling hand he turned the key. The door opened into a large and desolate apartment, dimly lighted by a lamp that stood on a table, which was almost the only furniture of the place. The Count had advanced several steps before he perceived an object, which fixed all his attention. This was the figure of a young woman lying on the floor apparently dead. Her face was concealed in her robe; and the long auburn tresses which fell in beautiful luxuriance over her bosom, served to veil a part of the glowing beauty which the disorder of her dress would have revealed.,

At first glance there seemed nothing amiss. To Bob’s untrained eye, the shadows that lay heavily in the dark of the night were only scrub pine and underbrush. But as he looked these shadows took form and substance. They were men, sitting or lying relaxed, in attitudes of waiting. A faint nicker and trampling of hoofs told that horses were hobbled in the vicinity.,

“That’s fine new tackle you have,” said William Holm to Tellef one afternoon.

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He pulled out a draft his father had given him before he had left for the West. His father had said it was for emergencies and had drawn it for a respectable sum. Jerry looked at the figures and whistled. “Oh, I guess you’ve got the money all right. It’d be enough to put the thing through. But it’s too risky.”,

Perhaps he ought to be looking after his own fishing tackle. Every one was talking about going fishing nowadays and he’d better see whether his tackle was hanging where it should be, on the wall of the wash-house. William Holm had done nothing at school today but brag of that new fishing tackle of his.,

Mother put him down on the sofa and washed his hot, tear-stained face. Some time after he exclaimed, “Mother.”,

John held the basket under a branch while Tellef shook it. Eight apples bounced and rolled in the garden path, but not one fell into the basket and not one but showed a bruise or a split.