ther dared to speak. They seemed standing amongst the dead, and how long it would be before some accomplice returned upon them they could not tell. Here Barrow's coolness was better than Godfrey's fire. He was the first to move, and putting his finger on his lips as a sign to Godfrey, he knelt down by the old woman, felt her pulse, put his cheek against her mouth, and finding no sign of life, they closed the door gently, and stole along under the hedge until they got into the open road.

It was now pitch dark, and a few heavy drops heralded a summer storm. Very soon it came down in torrents, but they heeded it not, and on and on they speeded until they got into the old porch of Athelling and rang the bell.

The porter began to "That he was sorry it

say

was his duty," but he saw that something was wrong, and he let them go up at once to the house.

The tale was soon told, and in a short time the officers were on their way to the cottage. But Dr. Wilson was struck with something peculiar in Barrow's manner: and after closely questioning him as to how he felt, and whether he was sure he had received no wound; he finally refused to let him go down to the dormitory, and ordered him a bed in his own house. Godfrey too was detained

L

to save the fatigue and excitement of telling the history over again to his companions.

If poor Godfrey found it hard to attend to his prayers generally, he experienced still greater difficulty that night. Tears of gratitude flowed freely, but visions of horror, and wild thoughts of fighting and bloodshed thronged across his mind, and he felt utterly unable to be calm.

Barrow, on the contrary, was perfectly composed, though under a deep depression. A weight was upon him, and half vexed with himself that he did not feel his deliverance more keenly, he yet offered a thanksgiving full and deep, and he only of the two remembered to ask GOD'S grace that neither pride nor hardness of heart might be the consequence of the day's actions. The officers found the cottage just as the two boys had left it. Mrs. Blake was quite dead, as it appeared, from a blow upon the head, and her murderer, although alive, was dangerously wounded and insensible. He was recognised as the famous poacher, and the brother of the man who had been transported after the former business, and was of course conveyed to prison.

111

CHAPTER X.

The Second Danger.

Not they who watch in Afric's streamless wilds
With arid gaze the bright unchanging skies,
Moon after moon, dawn on them. Not the last,
The sole survivor of the stranded ship:
Who from some crag surveys the sailless sea,
Sun after sun, with wild and straining eyes;
More keenly watch than they whose vigils mark
The flushing cheek, the quick inconstant breath,
Of some poor sufferer who is all their love,
If but a change may pass across his brow;
If but a ray of hope illume their grief.

Anon.

THE rooms in which the two friends slept opened into each other. In the night Godfrey dreamed over part of the horrors of the day, and again and again shuddered to hear some low voice of moaning and of woe ringing in his ears. At last he awoke in fright, and listening heard Barrow calling to him in a weak voice. He went to him immediately and found him in a highly feverish state,

and with an overpowering sense of suffocation still more distressing. He immediately alarmed the house. The medical man was sent for, and not arriving for two or three hours, he found Barrow really ill, with every symptom of a violent inflammatory attack. The heavy rain upon his delicate frame, exhausted as it was by fatigue and excitement, had done its work.

At first no danger was apprehended. Barrow, however, thought otherwise. He requested that his mother should be sent for, and at the close of the second day he desired to speak privately with Godfrey. His request was at first refused, for it was thought that any recurrence to the dreaded subject would be highly injurious. Indeed, mere conversation was bad, not on account of the fever only, but because of the difficulty of breathing under which the sufferer laboured. At last, however, it was thought better to yield than to oppose, and Godfrey Davenant sat weeping beside his friend to hear what he had to say.

"Godfrey," said Barrow in a low thick voice, "I do not think that I shall recover, and I wish to speak to you whilst I can."

"Dear Barrow, pray don't think so; I assure you Dr. Watson said only a few minutes ago, that you were not in danger."

"Well, it may

be so. I cannot say, but I feel ill indeed; and the death of my poor old friend perhaps makes me more depressed."

very

"You are not depressed at the thought of death, I am sure, Barrow. I am sure you are not, and need not be so."

"I ought not, I ought not; but do not say, I need not, as if I were fit for heaven. I do not mind telling you what I feel. It seems to me as if GOD had loaded me all my life with benefits, and that now I am dying without doing anything in return-without having made a single thankoffering for His goodness. I should like to have tried the strength of the principles upon which I have been educated, to have seen them triumph over the world. I do not mean myself, but them. But I believe all this is more illness than anything else. I do, yes I do," he exclaimed, looking calmly up, "trust myself to the Holy JESUS, JEsus, LORD of Life and Death and Heaven." After a pause, he went on: "I did not send for you to tell you my feelings. When I have received the Holy Communion, seen my mother, and had some talk with you, I shall rest satisfied, whatever happens. I have watched you, Godfrey, ever since I knew you; and do not be hurt when I say, that you want moral courage-you want a