distinctly heard heavy footsteps and a strange voice in the
room beyond. She was now thoroughly alarmed--her first impulse was to
escape from the house--her next to bolt the door, and call aloud for
assistance. But who would hear her cries? Between the two purposes, she
halted irresolute... and remained, pale and trembling, seated at the
foot of the bed, when a broad light streamed through the chinks of the
door--an instant more, and a rude hand seized her.

"Come, mem, don't be fritted, we won't harm you; but where's the
gold-dust--where's the money?--the old girl says you've got it. Fork it
over."

"O mercy, mercy! John Walters, is that you?"

"Damnation!" muttered the man, staggering back; "so you knows me then;
but you sha'n't peach; you sha'n't scrag me, b---t you."

While he spoke, he again seized Alice, held her forcibly down with one
hand, while with the other he deliberately drew from a side pouch a long
case-knife. In that moment of deadly peril, the second ruffian, who had
been hitherto delayed in securing the servant, rushed forward. He had
heard the exclamation of Alice, he heard the threat of his comrade; he
darted to the bedside, cast a hurried gaze upon Alice, and hurled the
intended murderer to the other side of the room.

"What, man, art mad?" he growled between his teeth. "Don't you know her?
It is Alice;--it is my daughter."

Alice had sprung up when released from the murderer's knife, and now,
with eyes strained and starting with horror, gazed upon the dark and
evil face of her deliverer.

"O God, it is--it is my father!" she muttered, and fell senseless.

"Daughter or no daughter," said John Walters, "I shall not put my scrag
in her power; recollect how she fritted us before, when she run away."

Darvil stood thoughtful and perplexed; and his associate approached
doggedly with a look of such settled ferocity as it was impossible for
even Darvil to contemplate without a shudder.

"You say right," muttered the father, after a pause, but fixing his
strong gripe on his comrade's shoulder,--"the girl must not be left
here--the cart has a covering. We are leaving the country; I have
a right to my daughter--she shall go with us. There, man, grab the
money--it's on the table;.... you've got the spoons. Now then--" as
Darvil spoke he seized his daughter in his arms; threw over her a shawl
and a cloak that lay at hand, and was already on the threshold.

"I don't half like it," said Walters, grumb