r way, and indulged
in subdued conversation upon the mystery which thus far had defied
their efforts to solve.

Suddenly they were startled by an exclamation from one of their
number, who, on looking casually over the railing into the stream
beneath, discovered in the bright reflection of the brilliant moon,
the figure of the murdered girl lying in the shallow water. With an
agonizing cry Henry sprang into the river, and in a few moments
clasped the lifeless body in his strong arms and bore her to the
shore.

It was too true--the pale, beautiful features that met their
frightened gaze were none other than those of the village
beauty--Emerence, and a stillness like that of death fell upon the
assembly as they looked upon her.

At first it was supposed that she had been accidentally drowned, but
upon the lights being brought, and that cruel blow upon the head
being discovered, each one looked at the other, and the words burst
almost simultaneously from the lips of all:

"_Nat Toner!_"

After the first cry which escaped him, Henry Schulte never spoke
again during that painful time, but with reverent hands he smoothed
the wet drapery about her shapely limbs, and closed the great staring
eyes, which, when he last looked upon them, were full of love, and
hope, and happiness--and then, as the men gathered up the fair form
and bore it to her once happy home, he followed silently, and with
faltering steps.

It had needed no words from the villagers to tell him of the author
of this crime. Before they had spoken, his own mind had discovered
the murderer, and he had resolved upon the course to be pursued, and
when, immediately after the sad funeral rites had been performed, and
the body of the fair young Emerence had been placed in the ground,
Henry disappeared from the village, one and all felt that the mission
he had gone upon was a righteous one, and no one disputed his right
to go.

At the end of a month he returned, but with a face so changed that he
was scarcely recognized. The happy light was gone forever from his
eyes, and the hard stern lines about the mouth told the sad story of
long suffering, and of a harsh judgment that had been fulfilled.

No one questioned him upon his journey, or its result, and he gave no
explanations, but when some weeks later a party of hunters in the
forests on the mountains, near Werne, discovered the lifeless body of
Nat Toner, with his pistol by his side, and a bullet-hole throug