r the eaves, wrapped in
flannel blankets, with bottles of hot water at the feet, and a generous
draught of brandy, which the grave digger's wife always kept in the
house for emergencies, forced down her throat.

"She will soon return to consciousness now," she exclaimed to her
husband, who stood beside the bedside anxiously watching her labors;
"see that flush on her cheeks. We will sit down quietly and wait until
she opens her eyes. It won't be long."

And while they waited thus, Adam told his wife the story he had to tell
concerning the young girl--this fair, hapless, beautiful young stranger
whose wedding he had witnessed and burial he had assisted in within the
hour, first binding his wife to solemn secrecy.

The good woman's amazement as she listened can better be imagined than
described. For once in her life she was too dumfounded to offer even a
theory.

As they glanced toward the bed, to their amazement they saw the girl's
eyes fastened upon old Adam with an expression of horror in them,
heartrending to behold, and they realized that she had heard every word
he had said.

In an instant they were on their feet bending over the couch.

"Is it true--they buried me--and--you--you--rescued me?" she asked, in a
terrified whisper, catching at the old man's hands and clutching them in
a grasp from which he could not draw them away, her teeth chattering,
her violet eyes almost bulging from their sockets.

"Since you have heard all, I might as well confess that it is quite
true," he answered. "And God forgive that brute of a husband you just
married. He ought to swing for the crime as sure as there is a heaven
above us. There will be no end of the good minister's wrath when he
hears the story, my poor girl."

Again the beautiful young stranger caught at his hands.

"He must never know!" she cried, incoherently. "Promise me, by all you
hold dear, that both you and your wife will keep my secret--will never
reveal one word of what has happened this night."

"It is not right that we should keep silent upon such an amazing
procedure. That would be letting escape the man who should be punished,
if there is any law in the land to reach him for committing such a
heinous crime."

"I plead with you--I, who know best and am the one wronged, and most
vitally interested, to utter no word that would cause the story to
become blazoned all over the world. Let me make my words a prayer to you
both--to keep my pitiful secret.