Staging after staging was passed, and, a last, the two men stood at the bottom. In :a minute more they were in the street, and with out pausing, hurried away. CHAPTER XXV. MEETINGS AND PARTINGS. “BA, boss, did you see those lights!” “Yes, Teddy, and, by Jove! I am sure they come from my cabin! Come, come! Some- thing is wrong there. Let us draw nearer and see what all this means,”and he started for- ward. “ We had better stay here, boss. They may be ghosts. This is the hour for them to be abroad.” The man spoke seriously, and hung back. “ Ghosts! Come on, fool, and none of your nonsense. Tie the horses to the old post there and follow me. We have no time to lose, for there‘s work ahead of us, between this and day.” The other man still hesitated, but only for a moment. He turned and taking the horses by the bit forced them to back the can'iage a few feet. He then tied the reins to a. post, the sole remains of a fence that had once skirted this portion of the hill. The men at once left the little hollow, in which they stood, and, entering the desert— ed Stephenson street, pushed on up toward Boyd’s Hill. Further dewn the same deserted thorough- fare, toward its foot, two other men strode along at a rapid pace. They weretall, brawny fellows, and they, too, bent their stride up the hill. They walked swiftly, as if they knew every inch of the ground well, and.,as if they, too, had work before them. ~ “We are near the spot, Ben; and I long to be there! Ifwearesuccessfulitwillbeagrand triumph for me; if we are wrong! if we fail I Yet, we cannot, must not fail! ’Twould craze me now, after everything has worked so well; but, Ben, it was bad you did not succeed in getting the carriage.” “Yes, my boy; but, maybe ’tis for the best. The livery-man, had his stable been open, would have wondered why I, old Ben the min— er, wanted a carriage. Take my word for it, Tom, ’tis ordered to be so, and, as I said, ’tis all for the best; I know it.” “Perhaps it is,” replied the other, as if half— convinced. “ But, Ben, should we succeed in rescuing the young lady, what will we do? ’Tis not a mere step from here to Stockton ave— nue, ' Alleghany city. And, late or not, I wish to teach the old aristocrat there, that an honest poor man can prove his innocence, and I’ll do it I” “You shall do it, Tom, for, if it can’t be ar— ranged otherwise, why, by the eternal pillars, we’ll carry the young lady ourselves. In such work as that I can get along under a thousand- weight, again; and she, poor girl, I dare say, is as light as a sparrow. Besides, Tom, you have an arm on you, and it isno child’s, either! We can manage all this; but, did you think, Tom, that we haven’t found the young lady yet! God grant we may!” “Amen!” replied Tom Worth, in a. deep, earnest voice. They redoubled their exertions, and strode on at a rapid stride up the hill. Again several minutes passed in silence. Suddenly Tom Worth halted. “Hist! hist! Ben! there is a carriage—see! just there in the hollow?” “Yes, my boy, I see it, and we have cm puny on the hill! We have work, too, Tom— that’s a sure thing! And!” he continued, in a very low, but determined voice, “ rascality is the game! We’ll see who gets the car— riage I” “Have you any weapon, Ben!” asked the other. “None but my stout arms; they are enough. Woe be unto the man who braves me!” “ Then come, Ben—ha! by heavens! you are right; the villains are at work! Voices, Ben -—-voices! and now, for vengeance!” and, as a long, wailing shriek, evidently from a female throat, sounded shrill and piercing on the still night air, the two friends rushed forward to- ward the top of the hill. A moment only elapsed before they stood on the summit, and not over twenty yards from the old house. Before them, indistinctly in the gloom, a struggle was going 011. And then the coarse voice of an angry, exci man peeled out in a hideous oath—~end a low, Wailing cry for mercy went feebly up. “ Now, old friend, into them !” shouted Tom Worth, in a voice that was stentorian in its wer. Old Ben needed no encouragement. With the bound of a tiger he sprung forward, by the side of his younger companion, who was fairly flying'onward. A moment, and like an ava— lanche they swept upon their assailants; in an— other, heavy thuds of falling fists, sickening and terrible, sounded on the air; then the fierce breathing and the half-muttered curses of strug— gling men; then a pistol-shot, and another, all told that a terrible contest was in pro- But, nothing could stand up against those two iron—made men of the mines, with their muscles of steel. The pistol-shots had been harmless, and one of the men, his face knocked into a shapeless mass, had gone down before the ponderous blows of old Ben’s right arm. For a moment there was a brief hand—to—hand struggle be- tween Tom Worth and the other villain. It was indeed brief, for that young man was a very Hercules in the fight. In the twinkling of an eye he had sent hisantegonist rushing and tumbling on the stony surface of the top of the hill. The two strong men stooped simultaneous- ly by the side of the fallen girl, lying so mo- tionless on the ground. Quickly they chafed her cold hands and temples, and sought to raise her. The girl did not seem to breathe. “My God! my God! they have slain her! they have murdered my darling!” Old Ben started as if shot, as he heard these words burst in a wailing sob from the breast of Tom Worth. “No, no, Tom!” he said, in a low, sympa- thizing tone, “she still breathes, and— Ah! there they go, the hounds, and they have es- caped us!” he suddenly exclaimed, springing to his feet, and pointing with his hand. Sure enough, the villains who had for awhile been placed hors clu combat, had slowly and un— perwived regained their feet, and were now rapidly speeding away. “ Come, Tom,” said old Ben, at length break- ing the silence; “ all’s well; the young woman breathes; ha! she awakes! Assist her, Tom, and make for the carriage in the hollow! I’ll go on———” and he hurried away. Tom Worth tenderly lifted that half—con— scious form in his strong arms and bore it gen- tly down the hill. He reached the carriage; it was standing in the road, and old Ben Wal— ford, reins in hand, was already upon the driv~ er’s seat. “ Get in, Tom; get inwith the lady, and let’s be off. Those scoundrels may get re—enforce— ments and return!” ' Tom Worth placed his precious charge in— side the vehicle, entered himself, and closed the door; then the carriage, under the guidance of the heroic old man on the box, rolled away at a fearful pace. Down through the city, then over the creaking wire-bridge, then up Fede— ral street, and then, at last, before the mansion of Richard Harley, the millionaire, on Stockton avenue, old Ben drew the reins. Not a word had been spoken by those inside, though for a brief moment, Tom Worth had held the little hand, so cold and limp, in his, and had pressed his lips ardently to it. The household was aroused, and in a few mo— ments old Mr. Harley, in a dressing-gown, won— dering and staring, stood at the door. His daughter reeled in, and flung her arms around his neck; he uttered a wild, piercing cry. “ Your preserver, Grace! where is he?” The girl pointed to the tall form of the young miner, who stood in the glare of the light. “Tom Worth, the miner! My God!” But then, in an instant, with a glance of ur- utterable affection toward the maiden, the miner was gone. The clear sun of the next morning broke, grand and luminous. The beams of that sun flashed into the long- unoccupied room of Grace Harley, and into the chamber, too, of her old father. And, not only was there sunshine in the apartments of that lordly mansion, but it glow— ed in every heart, too. For the lost was found —the daylight of the household once more gleamed in their midst, and happiness was upon all. Of course the Haws—as it was called by everybody—spread like wildfire; the heiress of old Richard Harley—the belle of Pittsburgh—~ had been found! Extras were issued from the different newspaper offices, and the matter so strange and mysterous from the beginning to this the ending, though for a time almost forgot— ten, was again on every tongue. Then came the equally startling news that Tom Worth, the prisoner, had broken jail and had escaped! Large rew were immediate- ly offered for his arrest; and his escape was proclaimed everywhere. It seemed that the long-neglected grated win- dow had been lifted, or torn out, bodily, from its bed, and that the prisoner had thus escaped. Forthwith, that very day, each window along the jail—wall was removed, and the holes left were filled up with solid granite blocks, as can be seen to this day in the old prison. But there came no news of Tom Worth, the miner. Many were the congratulations pour— ing in that day upon the rich man, that his daughter had been found, And then enterpris— ing reporters rung respectfully at the aristo— cratic mansion, and in their own urbane, pushv ing style craved a “ half—minute’s interview with Miss Harley.” The “interview ” was, in every case, cheerftu or otherwise accorded; and to all she had the same news—that was very brief and non—sensational, to wit: on the night of terror, on the Mount Washington road, she was seized by two men, apparently miners; was thrown into a wagon, after being bound and blindfolded; was driven a long distance, and at last imprisoned in an old house, which she had but just learned, stood isolated and alone on Boyd’s Hill; that the room in which she was kept was elegantly furnished. And then, with a shudder, she went on rapidly to state that she was released by two brawny men, apparently miners, too. , That was all she had to tell. The dusky twilight was settling on the place that day, when the bell sounded for the fiftieth time at the mansion of Mr. Harley. This time a letter was handed in by an old man, who hurried away at once. The letter was directed in a clear, bold handwriting to Miss Grace Har- ley. Mr. Harley had strolled forth to the com- mons to get exercise and relaxation, of both of which he stood in need. Grace was all alone. She started violently as she saw the supercrip— tion of the envelope; but, tearing open the let- ter, she read it through to the end. When she had finished, she laid the missive by, and sink- ing softly on the sofa again, she covered her face with her hands and wept silent tears of sorrow and joy commingled, murmuring at the same time: “Darling! darling! It was be! My hear: said so; and now—now—without a word, he has gone! God grant that we may meet again!" That letter, lying there crushed and crumpled on the sofa, read as follows: “ MY DARLING One: I have but a few moments to write, and these Ioccupy, darlin , in telling you that you are still the cherished i 01 of my heart— that you and your memory are dearer to me than life itself! I was wrongfully accused, Grace; yet, for fear of erring, I dared not exonerate myself by charging the crime on others than. Heaven has aided mein rescuing you from the clutches of a villain. Let both of us thank that God who has so blessed and befriellded us. And now, darling Grace, a word more; I have just received a letter from a foreign land, summoning me away; I mm! o. This is not the time for explanations. But, be- ?orel go, let me pledge to you again an undyin love and fidelity. I’ll not forget you, Grace; an I’ll win and wed you get, though the whole world were opposed to me. 9 true to me, as I will be to you; wait for my coming, and—shun that man whom I know to be a doe -dyed Villain—FAIRLEIGH SouunvILLE. Be kind, race, to my friend, poor old Ben Walford, who is almost crazed at my de- parture. He is one of nature's noblest of noble- men. and I love him be end the expression of words. And now, Grace, arewell, but not forever! You know me; so the name below will do. “ Forever yours. ‘ Ton Won'rn.“ Late that night a small row-boat shot off stealtth from the levee near the Smithfield street bridge, and took its way rapidly down the current of the Monongahela toward the duskily—flowing Ohio. In the boat sat Tom Worth and old Ben, and both men pulled the easy-working, noiseless oars. Oh they sped, miles and miles below the dark city. Then, at last, they turned the head of the boat, and, by a few vigorous strokes, shot- the light craft in toward the bank. The men leaped ashore. “The time has come, Ben; ’tis best that this parting be soon over; we’ll suffer less. Good- by, my dear old friend, and may God always bless you! I am safe now, and the yelping hounds of the law can not find me. Pray to God, Ben, that we may meet again. And now, once more, good—by!” The old miner could not speak; he dared not trust his trembling voice, coming up, as it did, from a heart almost breaking. He strained his “boy ” to his breast for a minute, as if loth to let him go; and then the old man staggered back into the boat. When Ben Walford looked again, Tom had disappeared in the gloom of the black forest trees, which fringed the darkly-flowing river. CHAPTER XXVI. OLD THINGS, AND A NEW ARRIVAL. A LONG time has elapsed since the occur— rence of the events as given in the last chapter. To tie the broken thread securely, to make our chain of circumstances strong again, it is neces- sary to go back awhile—~some two years and more—to the time of the escape of Tom YVor’l. Soon after the disappearance of the miner, the report came that he had been drowned in attempting to get away by the river. Of course this rumor, in due time, reached the ears of Grace Harley. When it did, a terrible convul- sion passed over her frame, and, hiding her face in her hands, she gave way silently to a flood of tears. Her father had seen this emo- tion, and then, as a sudden gleam of intelligence passed over his face, he had taken his daugh- ter’s hand tremblineg and tenderly in his, and had spoken sympathizng words in her ear. After that, when Grace appeared in public, strange to say—and everybody wondered— she wore black. Tn the mean time a cloud, at first very small, yet momentarily increasing, was settling over old Richard Harley. After the escape from jail and disappearance of Tom Worth, for some time nothing was seen of Fairleigh Somerville, Esq. It is true, he was in the city, but, he did not show himself at the Harley mansion. As the weeks rolled on, however, the young millionaire finally made his appearance, once again, at the aristocratic dwelling on Stockton avenue. He drove over, as usual, in his trotting—wagon, and, hesitating not a moment, walked up the gmveled way, and rung the bell. He had been readily admit- ted by the liveried servant. And Fairleigh Somerville smiled grimly—— Satanically—to himself, as once again he stood in the elegant mansion, and as he glanced at the rich, showy livery of the domestic. it was a wicked fire which flashed from his eyes, as he looked a second time at the pompous servant. But, he handed in his perfumed card, and at a sign from the servant entered the parlor. Fairleigh Somerville was bent on business— deep and important business—though perhaps the observer would have noted nothing from the quiet, smooth, smiling exterior. When his card was handed in that day, a strange, proud smile flitted over the half-sad face of Mr. Har- ley, and a bright, triumphant fire gleamed in his eye. Poor old man. Despite the le son he had been recently taught—despite the gloom which of late hadovershadowed him and his, he was still ambitious. And, as he gazed at the sharp graved characters, on the bit of card- board, a wild hope again found place in the fa- ther’s heart. ‘ He had a marriageahZe daughter, and Fair leigh Smne’rville was a very rich young man! As the visitor, however, was standing by the piano in the parlor, waiting the coming of his host, the door suddenly opened. Somerville turned. He started violently, and his face first paled then reddened as his gaze fell upon Grace Harley. The maiden, too, shook fearfully, and she was about hastening from the room when the man strode fiercely up to her, and bending down, whispered a few words in her ear. The girl cowered, and without reply soever, turned and tottered from the parlor. Fairleigh Somerville knew that between him and Grace Harley there was a chasm which could not be bridged—he knew that, in the maiden’s heart, she loathed and scorned him; he knew that he could never call her his wife! The meeting between the old gentleman and his visitor that day was cordial, and the conver— sation between them, whatever the subject, was long and earnest. It seemed, too, to be confi- dential, for Mr. Harley drew the curtains, lit the gas, and locked the doors of the parlor. When the time came for Somerville to leave, and it was late in the evening, he stood for a moment in the parlor by the table, and slowly folded up numerous papers which had been spread out before the gentlemen. Then, as he hesitated, he remarked: “ I am sure of the success of the enterprise, my dear sir, and excuse me, sir, but, if you ‘wish, why, I will advance for you. When the entire investment is made up, why, sir, you can then repay me all at once,” and he looked the other earnestly in the face. Mr. Harley hesitated, and a slight shade passed over his br0w. He thought for a mo- ment. The truth is, pecuniary matters had not gone well of late with the old man. He had accu— mulated a large fortune, but he knew not how to take care of it. His income had been stea— dily on the decline for some time, and his busi— ness affairs were in a condition he disliked to contemplate. He had indorsed for impecunious friends, and, as the reward for his generosity, he was compelled to pay out in several instan- ces very large amounts. The time had passed when Richard Harley could draw a check a; random, and be careless of the sum; yet he was a rich man still. Hence the old man had hesitated at the young man’s remark. It was only for a moment, how— ever, for then he looked up and said, frankly: “You are very kind, sir, and your proffer is gratefully accepted. Keep an account, sir, and we will settle when everything is arranged. I, too, am sanguine of the success of the ven- ture.” When Fairleigh Somerville drove across the Suspension bridge that night, the flaring lamp flashing in his face revealed a hideous smile of triumph; but with that expression there was one darker still—revenge! And again and again he came; and every time he offered, very cleverly, to advance money in a certain enterprise. On these visits Somerville never saw Grace Harley, and he never asked for her; he seemed to have forgotten her. The old father thought strangely of this, but he never mentioned it. But, Grace knew of these visits, and she was sick and sad at heart at their frequency. A heavy weight seemed to be dragging her down. Still, Somerville came and time was speeding away. At last, one night, on the occasion of a visit from the young millionaire, the library rung with loud, angry words, though no one on the outside heard those words. Somervile was at last ready for the consummation of his plans— he was pressing the old man for a settlement. Whether or not the speculation had proved a success or an abortion is not known. But, at all events, Fairleigh Somerville held a paper-— a legal instrument—against the poor old man who had so blindly trusted him. . That paper was a lien upon the splendid Har— ley mansion entire; and, when the gentlemen separated that night, it was with pitiable ap- peals from the old man, and dark threats, and vengeful, triumphant exultations from his “partner.” Indeed, the cloud was upon Richard Hurley, and it gloomed his sky from horizon to zenith. Thus matters stood at the time we resume our story, when, one afternoon, there descend- ed, unaccompanied by any one, from the late Philadelphia train, at the Union, depot, a tall, aristocratic-looking gentleman What was singular about this richly-clad stranger, and what made him most curiously observed by all, was, while his hair and eye— brows were of the richest auburn, his mustache and whiskers, long and curling, were as white as snow. Yet, for all that, the gentleman was a young- looking man, and very handsome besides. And no one had ever seen him before. (To be continued-«commenced in No. 318 ) FORGET ME. BY L. C. GREENWOOD. I can but ask you to forget me, Ere we must forever part—- I can but ask you ne’er to let me Know the anguish of your heart In the lonely hours which lack the tender Words and kisses of other days; Oh, deem them but a faded splendor Which has vanished from your gaze. I have ever loved you, but you deemed Mgilove the merest trifle I w le wooing fondly, little dreamed Your heart my love would stifle. Tell me why vanity has taught you T" u; to son your h“ r for tesrs, Which future days will soon nave brought you In a life of lonely years? Oh, when the anguish I am feeling, You yourself will feel ere long, Can bitter tears of sorrow starting From your eyes atone all wrong? Oh! in dreams, the time will come when erst. Our love in rapture met, ' And awakening find the hopes then nursed Gone, while tears your pillow wet. Although I ask you to forget me, Still fear you never can; Although you wish you ne’er had met me, You can love no other man. If he wins your heart ’tis unknown now, He will find it all too cold; Rays of love as cold as winter‘s sun, Soon their story will have told. Stories. 0—— Centennial THE HIDD—MI:ONTINENTAL. BY T. C. HARBAUGH. THE eventful year of 1778 was drawing to a close when Colonel Campbell, of the British army, landed near Savannah, and fell furiously on the Americans under General Howe. Howe’s troops were in no condition to face the enemy; an unsuccessful campaign in the Floridas had enfeebled his men by disease, and, deeming “discretion the better part of valor,” he re— treated up the river. Of course, the then capital of Georgia fell into the hands of the enemy, who abused his triumph, and consigned his name to an unenvi— able fame. There was a. strong tory element in Savan- nah which had been kept in check by the pres- ence of the Continentals; but when the British marched into the city, it rose and asserted its strength Houses were plundered, and a num- ber of patriots bayonetedin the streets. Neigh— bor rose against neighbor, and tories led a plundering soldiery to the homes of the patri ots The Holly family that dwelt in Savannah at the time of its capture and sack, consisted of three persons—the mother and two children. The father, a man of wealth and influence in Georgia, had died during the year that pre— ceded the outbreaking of the war, and the home of his family was one of the finest resi- dences in the city. Miriam Holly, the oldest child, was a beauti- ful girl’of nineteen, while her brother was five years her junior. If the father had lived, he might have proven a tory, for he was devotedly attached to the mother country, and when the king’s troops took possession of the capital, Colonel Campbell, commanded that the Hollys’ home should not be ransacked. Thus the house escaped pillage, and Miriam hastened to thank the soldier for his kindness. Colonel Campbell was struck by the girl’s grace and remarkable loveliness, and detained her at his headquarters until he had learned her family history by many adroit questions. “ There goes the handsomest woman in Geor— gia!” cried Campbell, as the girl left the house. His companion, who happened to be his chief of staff, looked after Miriam and remarked: “I quite agree with the colonel. These American rebels are all beautiful.” Campbell was silent for a moment. “We will not occupy this building after to- morrow,” he said, suddenly. “I am going to take up my abode beneath the same roof that shelters Miriam Holly.” “Love at first sight, colonel,” said the chief of staff, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “ ‘5 Lady Bonn so soon forgotten, my dear colonel?” “ Lady Bonn be hanged!” cried Campbell. “A soldier loves when and wffom he pleases, and besides, major, one is not obliged to marry these American girls because he loves them.” The conversation was interrupted by the ar- rival of an orderly, and was not resumed. On the following day Colonel Campbell made Miriam Holly’s home his headquarters_ The girl grew deathly pale when she learned of the sudden change, and said, in a whisper, to her mother: I “This is a terrible event. He is not fit to depart yet, nor will he for a week to come.” “Miriam, I have been thinking that it might be policy for us to give him up to the army,” replied Mrs. Holly. “ Give him up now?” cried the girl. “Give him up and hear every tory in Savannah cry for his blood? No! Unless discovered, he shall remain where he is until he is able to escape!” Miriam Holly spoke with much firmness, and tears stood in the mother’s eyes when she opened her arms and received the daughter in her em- brace. “ Forgive me, Miriam!” she cried. “We must keep our secret from Colonel Campbell. He must not know who lies to-day beneath our roof.” So Miriam hastened from her mother’s pres- ence, and by touching a concealed spring in the wall of an unfinished room, revealed a narrow stairway. She at once mounted the steps and entered a very small apartment into which light streamed from a sky—window. The room was tenanted. On a low cot lay a man in his twenties. His dark hair contrast- ed vividly with the deathly pallor of his face, and the suit of faded continental uniform, with a sword, that hung against the wall over the bed, told that he was an American sol— dier. A boy of fifteen who sat on the edge of the bed was reading aloud, but in a cautious tone, when the door opened to admit Miriam. The invalid’s face lit up with a smile when the fair girl came forward and took his fevered hand. - Then she told him about Colonel Campbell’s change of quarters, and he listened without a question. “ Well?” he said at last, “ what are we going to do?” “ We are going to remain here till we get strong enough to leave the city,” answered Mi— riam, with a smile, and even while she spoke a faint noise below told her that the British col— onel was moving into his new quarters. The continental was a captain in Howe’s lit- tle army. He had served the colonies with a zeal surpassed by none who rallied round the cause of freedom; but disease had seized upon him in Florida, and he returned with the troops to Georgia to find an asylum in Miriam Holly’s home, and to be nursed by her through the long hours of his fever. The attending physi- cian was a man who knew how to keep a se— [cret, and as his sympathies were with the pa- triot cause, he gave Miriam many valuable hints that looked to the hidden soldier’s health and future safety. Colonel Campbell, bent on the conquest of the fair girl’s heart, tried to make himself agreeable to the inmates of the mansion. Mi~ riam took good care not to show him that his absence would be more desirable than his com- pany, and the widow treated him with a com-te- sy that kept him aloof from suspicion for sev- eral days. It was behaved by the tories of Savannah that a number of continentals remained secreted in the city. Indeed, several had been discovered since its capture, and at the time of the com- mandant’s change of quarters an active search for such persons was going on. “ Is this house haunted, Miss Miriam?” asked the colonel one morning at the breakfast—table. The girl started at the abrupt question, and wondered if she turned pale. “ Haunted?” she echoed, with an effort. “ The ghosts must be rats. Have you been visited by sheeted beings?” “ No, but after I had retired last night I heard a noise like the sound of distant voices. It seemed to be directly overhead, and I called my chief of staff. Who sleeps over my apart— ment, if you will permit so hold a question?” “My brother,” answered Miriam, quickly. “I was with him until a late hour last night.” “ And the night before?” “ Yes.” “ Then I heard the sound of your voices, no doubt,” said Campbell, glancing at the chief of staff, whose eyes, during the conversation. had been fastened on the girl’s face. ' Major Guilford had noticed every change of countenance, and when the twain had retired from the breakfast-table, he grasped his super— ior’s arm. “What do you say now, colonel?” he cried, in triumph. “ I—I don’t know what to say. 1—” “ I watched her like a hawk, and I tell you that the girl is dissimulating. There is a rebel sol- dier in this house!” Colonel Campbell looked at his major, but did not speak “I never did believe that she was a. Tory,” continued Guilford. “ She is one of the rank- est rebels in Savannah. Why, colone1,_so long as the Continental remains beneath this roof, you cannot succeed with her. He stands be- tween you and Miriam Holly, so you see the line of your policy is clearly before you.” The British colonel started. “ I did not think of that!” he said. “Major, we will solve the mystery of the sounds we heard last night.” “With me it is solved already,” was the chief of staff’s reply. From that hour Miriam Holly was watched. Her absence from the lower rooms was noted, and the colonel knew when she Was not in her boudoir. As the days waned, the hidden Continental improved, and at last he rose and donned his faded uniform. “ To—morrow night, if it be dark and stormy,” Miriam said to him, while she polished his sword in the mellow light of the lamp. “ I have the doctor’s assistance, and the horse will not fail you. You know whither to ride, and before long this sword which Howe has missed will flash once more before the enemy.” Miriam Holly fancied that she was about to outwit the king’s men. The Continental was ready for flight, and there were true friends who promised to help him beyond the city. It was with delight that the girl hailed the great drops of rain that pattered on the panes of her window, when the darkness of the chosen night fell over the city like a pal]. The thun- der rolled above the houses, and now and then flashes of lightning revealed glimpses of the carnival of rain. In the hidden room stood Captain Tempest, the shadow of his former self, but strong in the desire for liberty. He waited for Miriam, who came at last, and showed him rain—drops on her. “The elements are assisting us,” she said, joyfully. “ The doctor is waiting, like a hero, under the elm, and he has the pam-word.” “ Good! Are they asleep?” “ They retired two hours ago,” said Miriam. “ I am satisfied that the coast is clear.” ’ Then the soldier picked up his sword, with a pride that caused his eyes to flash, and Miriam was smiling upon him, when a voice made both start and hold their breath. A step on the secret stair! The twain exchanged startled glances, and the girl turned to the door, which opened sud- denly, and revealed the face of Colonel Camp- bell. Over his shoulders flashed the chief of staff’s triumphant eyes. This unexpected event threw the lovers off their guard, and, as the British officers leaped into the room, with swords half—drawn, the highest in rank exclaimed: “ A rebel’s nest! So, so! Surrender at once, or I will rob the rebel troops of one sneaking ofiicer!” His last words were addressed to the Conti- nental captain, whose answer was kept back by Miriam Holly’s action. Soan from the British officers, she reach- ed the bed whereon a pistol lay, and a moment later she held it tightly griped in her hand! ‘Gentlemen, it may be the king’s cause that will lose in this game,” she said, addressing Colonel Campbell. “You will sheathe your swords and obey me!” Campbell and his chief of stafi.’ exchanged glances. At Miriam’s command they stepped from be- fore the door, and she looked at her lover. “You know the way,” she said. “ These soldiers will not pursue in such a storm. I will be responsible for their safety, for they would- n’t have a bullet in their uniforms for the world. Go, Marvin, and let every blow that you do- liver be a blow for freedom!” He said “good - by,” as he stepped to the door; he bade the discomfited officers good- night in a sarcastic tone that made them wince, and then passed down the stair. The oflicers’ forced confinement was irksome to them, and the minutes passed slowly away. By and by, Miriam Holly laid the pistol on the bed, and told the story of her lover’s siclmess. Campbell and his chief of staff listened with de- light to her voice, forgetting that they were prisoners no longer. When they at last went down the narrow stair, Miriam’s eyes followed them, and her goodnight, so full of triumph, made Campbell grate his teeth. “ She’s beaten me!” he said to his brother- ofiicer. “I’ve lost the prize. We’ll go back to the old quarters to—morrow.” He was as good as his word, and few persons ever learned why the colonel so hastily quit the Holly mansion, and returned to his first quarters. ‘ Captain Tempest escaped and retumed to Savannah at the head of a regiment/When the British flag was lowered to a delivered nation. Then he claimed a bride, and fiverybody was made acquainted with the story of the hidden Continental. “ ’