eat crash it broke beneath
him, and he remained clinging like grim death to the fence half-way up.

At the sound of the snapping branch the watch-dog became aware of the
fugitive, and rushed barking towards him; and while he was struggling
with all his might to scramble up to the top of the fence it seized him
by one of the tails of his coat and furiously tried to drag him down.

"Who is that?" a loud voice suddenly roared. The headsman had been
aroused by the noise outside his window, and was now looking down into
the courtyard. He there perceived a man quite unknown to him clambering
up the fence, while the dog was tugging away at him to bring him down.
"Ho, there! stop, whoever you are!" he thundered, and mad with rage he
seized the musket and took aim at the fugitive. His eyes were wild and
bloodshot.

Then a white hand lowered the weapon, and a clear ringing childish voice
from behind him exclaimed:

"Wilt thou slay yet again, oh, my father?"

The man's hand sank down. For a moment he was motionless, and his face
grew very pale. Then the calm look of self-possession came back to him.
He embraced the child who had pushed the gun aside. Then he took aim
once more. There was a loud report, and the watch-dog, without so much
as a yelp, fell to the ground stiff and stark. The fugitive with a final
effort leaped over the fence.

CHAPTER III.

A CHILDISH MALEFACTOR.

That house which stands all deserted in the middle of Hetfalu was not
always of such a doleful appearance.

Its windows which are now nailed up or bricked in were once full of
flowers; those trees which now stand around it all dried up and withered
as if in mourning for their masters, and with no wish to grow green
again after the many horrors which have taken place among them, those
trees, I say, once threw an opulent shade on the marble bench placed
beneath them, where a grave old gentleman used to sit of an evening and
rejoice in the splendid wallflowers with which the courtyard abounded.

Yes, he could rejoice in the sweet flowers although his own heart was
full of thorns.

This old gentleman was Benjamin Hetfalusy.

In front of those two windows which look out upon the garden, and which
are now walled up, a solitary vine had been planted, whose branches,
crowded with fruit, climbed up to the very roof of the house. Now it
lies all wildered on the ground, and its immature berries twine
themselves round the nearest bushes.

Those w