er cold of the winter. He set to work with a will, and the frozen
ground yielded quickly to the strokes of his trusty spade, and surely
the faint moon, glimmering from between the drifting clouds sweeping
across the dark face of the black heavens overhead, never looked upon a
wilder, more weird scene.

Twice old Adam paused, the perspiration pouring down his face like
rain.

He was about to cry out: "I cannot go on with this uncanny work," but
each time the cold steel of the revolver was pressed to his throbbing
brow, and the harsh voice of the muffled stranger said: "Go on; your
work is almost accomplished."

CHAPTER IX.

"THERE MUST NOT BE A SINGLE TRACE LEFT TO MARK THE SPOT OF THE GRAVE YOU
ARE NOW DIGGING," SAID THE MUFFLED STRANGER.

The old grave digger worked on faster and faster by the fitful light of
the carriage lamp, with the wild night winds howling about him, and the
perspiration streaming down his face, as the stranger stood over him
covering his heart with the deadly revolver.

"That will do, my man," he said, as old Adam paused for breath a moment.
"That is deep enough, I guess. It will not take long to place its future
tenant therein; then you must replace the earth and pack the snow so
carefully about it that it would not attract the attention of the
casual passer-by. Do you comprehend?"

"Yes," answered the old grave digger, and it seemed to him that his own
voice sounded like nothing human.

The stranger turned and walked leisurely to the coach in waiting.

Old Adam would have fled from the spot in mortal terror, but that his
limbs were trembling and refused to carry him.

He leaned heavily on his spade, asking himself in growing fright--what
terrible mystery was this that fate had drawn him into, and awaiting
with quaking heart what would follow.

He had not long to wait. The stranger who had stepped to the carriage
evidently proposed to lose no time.

In less time than it takes to recount it, he had lifted from the vehicle
a slender figure, closely wrapped in a long dark garment, and as he did
so a second person stepped from the coach--a man, closely muffled like
his companion--and wearing his soft hat pulled low over his eyes.

One glance at the flickering light of the carriage lamp fell upon them,
bearing the slender figure between them, and old Adam's heart fairly
stood still with horror.

He recognized them at once as the parties who had stood before the
altar in the