the poor little thing to death with this
confounded clothes'-bag. But some people have no consideration."

"That child may be the means of saving me," muttered the stranger, as if
struck by a new idea: "I shall gain time by the expedient. Do you live
here?"

"Not exactly," answered the carpenter.

"No matter. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter.
Ha!" exclaimed the stranger, as shouts and other vociferations resounded
at no great distance along the thoroughfare, "not a moment is to be
lost. Give me that precious charge," he added, snatching the bundle from
Wood. "If I escape, I will reward you. Your name?"

"Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it.
And now, a fair exchange, Sir. Yours?"

The stranger hesitated. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen
flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring
houses.

"My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. "But, if you are
discovered, answer no questions, as you value your life. Wrap yourself
in my cloak, and keep it. Remember! not a word!"

So saying, he huddled the mantle over Wood's shoulders, dashed the
lantern to the ground, and extinguished the light. A moment afterwards,
the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone.

"Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his
frame. "The Dutchman was right, after all."

This exclamation had scarcely escaped him, when the discharge of a
pistol was heard, and a bullet whizzed past his ears.

"I have him!" cried a voice in triumph.

A man, then, rushed up the entry, and, seizing the unlucky carpenter by
the collar, presented a drawn sword to his throat. This person was
speedily followed by half a dozen others, some of whom carried
flambeaux.

"Mur--der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant,
by whom he was half strangled.

"Damnation!" exclaimed one of the leaders of the party in a furious
tone, snatching a torch from an attendant, and throwing its light full
upon the face of the carpenter; "this is not the villain, Sir Cecil."

"So I find, Rowland," replied the other, in accents of deep
disappointment, and at the same time relinquishing his grasp. "I could
have sworn I saw him enter this passage. And how comes his cloak on this
knave's shoulders?"

"It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah,"
continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is t