at least none for my heart, which felt under them an almost icy
coldness.

"Just the man I was thinking about." I heard the landlord say, as
some one entered the bar, while his whole manner underwent a
sudden change.

"The old saying is true," was answered in a voice, the tones of
which were familiar to my ears.

"Thinking of the old Harry?" said Slade.

"Yes."

"True, literally, in the present case," I heard the landlord
remark, though in a much lower tone; "for, if you are not the
devil himself, you can't be farther removed than a second cousin."

A low, gurgling laugh met this little sally. There was something
in it so unlike a human laugh, that it caused my blood to trickle,
for a moment, coldly along my veins.

I heard nothing more except the murmur of voices in the bar, for a
hand shut the partly opened door that led from the sitting room.

Whose was that voice? I recalled its tones, and tried to fix in my
thought the person to whom it belonged, but was unable to do so. I
was not very long in doubt, for on stepping out on the porch in
front of the tavern, the well remembered face of Harvey Green
presented itself. He stood in the bar-room door, and was talking