Mr. Rashleigh, even if you have the opportunity. Marry me--for I am to
be the happy bridegroom--and don't utter another word, save and except
the words of the ceremony, from the time you enter my house until you
leave it. If you do your part like the prudent, elderly gentleman I take
you to be, you will find yourself back in your pleasant study, safe and
sound, before morning dawns. If not--"

There was an awful sound, the sharp click of a pistol. No words in
any known language--and the parson knew all the languages, dead and
alive--could have filled up the hiatus so eloquently or so convincingly.

The cold perspiration started from every pore, and each tooth in his
clerical jaws clattered like pairs of castanets.

They drove, and they drove, and they drove through the wild, wet night,
as if they meant to drive forever.

But they stopped, after a horribly long interval, and the parson was
helped out into the rain, out of the rain into a house, led up a flight
of stairs, and seated in a chair.

"Now, my dear sir, permit me to remove these uncomfortable incumbrances,
and do, do try to overlook the painful necessity which compelled me to
use them. It goes to my heart, I assure you. There!"

The last bandage dropped to the ground--eyes, hands, mouth were free.
But Mr. Rashleigh could make no use of his freedom; he sat pale,
benumbed, confounded, helpless.

"Rouse yourself, my dear sir," said his persecutor, giving him a gentle