struggling effort he makes, but
'tis the last; with a violent convulsion of his whole body the man in
the leather jerkin sinks to the earth to rise no more.

Effingston turned to the second figure lying upon the roadway, and as
he gazed upon her, there was expressed on his countenance a certain
degree of contempt, but, withal, a love which pride and resolution
could not quite kill. As she lies there, the white face touched by the
light of the moon, it is like looking upon the dead.

"O God," he whispered, as he suddenly knelt beside her, taking one of
the white hands within his own, "would that she had died
before--before----" He slowly raised the girl in his arms; then
convulsively pressed the light figure to him, and letting his head
sink upon her breast, sobbed as only a strong man can.

Again there was silence, broken only by the rattle of ice-covered
twigs swept from the trees by the restless night wind. After a moment
he regained composure and fell to chafing her hands.

A slight motion showed him the girl was slowly recovering from her
long swoon. Gradually consciousness returned, and lifting her head
from the cloak he had placed beneath it, she looked about in a
confused way as though unable to make out her surroundings. Soon her
gaze rested upon Effingston, who had drawn a little apart. Raising
herself, she tottered toward him, and would have fallen had he not put
an arm out to prevent her.

"What could have made thee treat me so?" she whispered, passing a hand
across her face, as if endeavoring to brush away that which hindered
her thoughts. "Have I not suffered enough?" she continued, piteously.

"I was not thy assailant," answered Effingston, motioning to the
figure on the road; "there he lieth; thou canst go thy way in peace."

The girl glanced in the direction and shuddered. "And how came this
about?" she questioned, in a dreamy tone, casting a frightened look at
the thing in the path. "Oh, now I do recollect me," added she, softly,
as though to herself, seemingly oblivious of her surroundings. "I had
left Sir Winter, and deeming myself quite safe, was hurrying home,
when--for truth, I can remember no more until I found thee near me."
She ceased and looked up into his face with an innocent smile.
Evidently the terrible strain to which her mind had been subjected
effaced from it all previous impressions, or left only an indistinct
recollection of what had transpired. "It was brave of thee," she
murm