! Pour hit in dah! De Prince won' come out! I try git 'im
out, but he won' come! Pump de water on 'im!"

In the midst of his exhortations a score of hands grasped the handles
and began to pump. But no water came! In vain the long handles went up
and down. Something had gone wrong with the mechanism of the machine. A
blacksmith was present, and he began an examination. In the meanwhile
the fire grew prodigiously, and suddenly a horse's unearthly scream of
terror and pain rent the air. Few had ever heard this sound before, and
it struck a note of horror upon every soul assembled there. The cry of a
horse in mortal distress is utterly indescribable, but it is a demon
tone which makes cowards of strong men. The mixed crowd drew back in
fear, thinking the imprisoned animal might make a sudden break and
trample them in his rush. Even the smith, who had been vainly searching
for the hitch in the pumping gear of the engine, crawled from under the
useless thing and retreated with the others. So it happened, almost
without his knowing it, that John Glenning was left standing alone by
the deserted engine. The intense glare showed up his figure well. He was
tall and lean, but his shoulders had a look of great strength, and his
face, upon which the light was dancing, was calm and purposeful. The old
negro had sunk to the ground, and with his face hidden in his crossed
arms, was rocking to and fro, moaning ceaselessly. Following the horse's
awful scream, and the subsequent rush backward, fell a dead silence,
disturbed only by the cracking and snapping of seasoned wood as the fire
ate up its fibres, and the low undertone of Peter's dolorous wails. Then
plainly to Glenning's ears came a woman's muffled sobs, and he heard a
voice tense with distress exclaim--

"My poor Prince! O my poor Prince!"

John wheeled half way around abruptly, and looked in the direction from
whence the voice had come. He beheld two people standing partly aside,
and well back. A tall, erect old man whose disordered apparel indicated
the haste with which he had dressed, and a girl clinging despairingly to
his arm, clad only in a white night robe with a shawl thrown about her
shoulders and held tightly over her breast with one clenched hand. The
old man's face was mask-like, but there was a deep furrow in the middle
of his forehead, and his eyes blazed with repressed anger. The young
woman was pitiful to the respectful but penetrating eyes of Glenning.
Her hair,