But when she reached the pavement outside her teeth were clenched, and she carried herself unconsciously an inch or so higher. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. Nervously he pulled alongside the dilapidated oncewhite farmhouse. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. .
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