he more impressive that the moments
before had been so prolific of heaven's most terrible noises.

"You suffer because another man is forced to endure suspicion for a
crime he never committed," she whisperingly exclaimed.

Only a groan answered her; and the moments grew heavier and heavier,
more and more oppressive, though the hitherto accompanying outcries of
the forest had ceased, and a faint lightening of the heavy darkness was
taking place overhead. Mr. Byrd felt the pressure of the situation so
powerfully, he drew near to the window he had hitherto avoided, and
looked in. She was standing a foot behind the crouched figure of the
man, between whom and herself she had avowed a line of blood to be
drawn. As he looked she spoke.

"Craik," said she, and the deathless yearning of love spoke in her voice
at last, "there is but one thing to do. Expiate your guilt by
acknowledging it. Save the innocent from unmerited suspicion, and trust
to the mercy of God. It is the only advice I can give you. I know no
other road to peace. If I did----" She stopped, choked by the terror of
her own thoughts. "Craik," she murmured, at last, "on the day I hear of
your having made this confession, I vow to take an oath of celibacy for
life. It is the only recompense I can offer for the misery and sin into
which our mutual mad ambitions have plunged you."

And subduing with a look of inexpressible anguish an evident longing to
lay her hand in final caress upon that bended head, she gave him one
parting look, and then, with a quick shudder, hurried away, and buried
herself amid the darkness of the wet and shivering woods.

XVII.

A SURPRISE.

Season your admiration for awhile.--HAMLET.

WHEN all was still again, Mr. Byrd advanced from his place of
concealment, and softly entered the hut. Its solitary occupant sat as
before, with his head bent down upon his clasped hands. But at the first
sound of Mr. Byrd's approach he rose and turned. The shock of the
discovery which followed sent the detective reeling back against the
door. The person who faced him with such quiet assurance was _not_ Craik
Mansell.

XVIII.

A BRACE OF DETECTIVES.

Hath this fellow no feeling of his business?--HAMLET.

No action, whether foul or fair,
Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere
A record. --LONGFELLOW.

"SO there are two of us! I thought as much when I first