ave wrung the very souls of other
men, without exhibiting any other feeling than contempt, that for a moment
awed even the hard man who had struck the blow. In proportion as Rust's
control over his emotions had been great, so now the reaection was
terrible. He seemed paralyzed in body and mind. No cry escaped him, but
his breath rattled as he drew it; his long hair hung loosely over his
face, and upon the floor; his eyes were closed; his features livid and
distorted; and but for his struggling breath, and the spasmodic jerking of
his fingers, he seemed dead.

'Lift him up, Bill,' said Grosket, in a subdued tone. 'It's been too much
for him. Who'd have thought he had a heart?'

Jones smiled grimly, as he said: 'I'm glad you did it, Mr. Grosket. It was
better than murdering him. He wasn't afeard of dying. Is it a fit he's
got?'

Without waiting for a reply, he placed his arms under him and raised him
up. Rust lay heavily against him, his head falling back, and his arms
dangling at his side. They carried him to the bench, and placed him on it,
Grosket standing behind him, and supporting his back.

'I guess he's done for,' said Jones, pushing the hair from his face; 'pity
it wasn't three days ago--that's all.'

'Get some water, or brandy,' said Grosket; 'I suppose we may as well bring
him to. It would be an ugly business if he should die on our hands.'

Jones stooped down, and picking up his great coat, commenced fumbling in
its pocket, and drew out the bottle from which he and Craig had drank, as
they were starting on their expedition on the previous night. He held it
up and looked at it, then muttered: 'It's no use; it's no use.'

'What are you talking about, there?' demanded Grosket, impatiently: 'is it
empty?'

Jones shook it.

'No; there's a drop or two in it. D--n him! I don't like his drinking out
of this bottle, I don't; I use it myself; and blow me, if I don't think
his mouth 'ud p'ison it.'

Grosket cut his scruples short by taking the bottle from him, uncorking
it, and pouring its contents in Rust's mouth.

'It's a waste,' muttered Jones, eyeing his proceedings with a very
dissatisfied look. 'I begrudged it to poor Tim; and cuss _him_, it's going
down _his_ gullet! I hope it'll choke him.'

Grosket paid no attention to him, but supported Rust, occasionally shaking
him by way of stirring up his ideas. Either the liquor or the shakings had
an effect; for the deadly paleness gradually disappeared from