A DEADLY ENCOUNTER.


The scene, so peaceful, so picturesque, is rudely broken in upon by a
clamor so strange and awful that the blood is chilled in the listeners'
veins. Cries are heard down the steep street; cries that indicate alarm,
even terror; cries that proceed from children, women, ay, and strong
men, too.

Our party comes to a halt midway between the brow of the hill and the
base. On either side tall houses, the declivity ending only at the
water. It is a bustling street at all hours, with loungers, business
men, women going to and returning from market, and children playing as
children do the world over, in the dirt.

"What can it mean?" says Lady Ruth, as she looks breathlessly down the
street.

No one in their party can explain the cause of the excitement. They see
people running madly this way and that, as if panic-stricken.

"By Jove! it must be a fire!" suggests the colonel, twirling his
whiskers.

"Nonsense! we should see the smoke," declares sensible Aunt Gwen.

"You are right; it is something more than a fire. Those people are
almost crazed. I've seen such a sight in Chicago, when a wild Texan
steer got loose and tossed things right and left," asserts the medical
student.