ankets, lying about a few red coals. Mary turned a frightened
look backward and met the eyes of her companion.

"Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice. As she promptly
did so she heard him answer the challenge, as his horse trotted softly
after hers.

"Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to the doctor."

"Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary glanced back three or
four men were just leaping into the road. But she saw also her
companion, his face suffused with an earnestness that was almost an
agony, rise in his stirrups with the stoop of his shoulders all gone,
and wildly cry:

"Go!"

She smote the horse and flew. Alice woke and screamed.

"Hush, my darling," said the mother, laying on the withe; "mamma's here.
Hush, darling, mamma's here. Don't be frightened, darling baby. O God,
spare my child!" and away she sped.

The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away in a thousand
echoes through the wood. Two others followed in sharp succession, and
there went close by Mary's ear the waspish whine of a minie-ball. At the
same moment she recognized, once,--twice,--thrice,--just at her back
where the hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering--the tart
rejoinders of his navy six.

"Go!" he cried again. "Lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his words
were needless. With head bowed forward and form crouched over the
crying, clinging child, with slackened rein and fluttering dress, and
sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back upon her shoulders, with lips
compressed and silent prayers, Mary was riding for life and liberty and
her husband's bedside.

"O mamma, mamma," wailed the terrified little one.

"Go on! Go on!" cried the voice behind; "they're--saddling up! Go! go!
We're goin' to make it! We're going to make it! Go-o-o!"

And they made it!

FOOTNOTE:

[10] From "Dr. Sevier."

NYDIA, THE BLIND GIRL[11]

EDWARD BULWER LYTTON

As Glaucus, a young Athenian, now a resident of Pompeii, was strolling
with his friend Clodius through the streets of that renowned city, their
steps were arrested by a crowd gathered round an open space where three
streets met; and just where the porticoes of a light, graceful temple
threw their shade, there stood a young girl, with a flower-basket on her
right arm and a small three-stringed instrument of music in her left
hand, to whose low and soft tones she was modulating a low, plaintive
air.

"It is my poor, bli