"Deny it if you dare, I have the proof."

"Prove it, if you can. I dare you to prove it. But I must leave this place. Such nonsense shall not detain me longer. I know that you are mad.-Captain, release me. Do not heed the ravings of that woman any longer."

"I am pledged, sir, on the accusation of this woman, to convey you safely back to the State, and back you must go. I can allow you no opportunity to escape."

"I must see my wife first. I cannot go without it."

"The vessel is ready to start. It will be impossible for you to see her. If you are quiet and obedient, you shall not be manacled; if you resist, we shall stow you away in security. Be wise now, and be silent."

"But my wife--"

"In an hour the Tigress will be out of port, sir, and you cannot see her."

"Alas! alas!" groaned Emile. "In Heaven's name, why has this evil befallen me?" and quickly sinking down upon a cabin stool, he said, "Keep me from the presence of this wretched lunatic, captain, if I must go. Yes, if I must be stolen in this cowardly way, from a peaceful home, and taken from a loving wife and innocent, helpless child, I can but submit; but keep that wretched woman out of my presence, I implore you."

"My friend, you may stay in here," replied the relentless captain, "till we are out of port;" and opening the door of a small room that contained only a port-hole of a window, he locked Emile in, and then busied himself with preparations for a speedy departure. Once shut in, Emile drew from his pocket a slip of paper, and addressed a line to Gardner & Company, urging his friend to go for his wife, and come to him at once. From his diminutive window he spied a slave near by, and quickly summoning him, said, "Here's my watch, boy; take this note quick to Gardner & Company, and my watch shall be yours." Then he threw the slip of paper out of the window. Distressed and dismayed, he sank down again, nervous and miserable, for fear the Tigress would depart before his wife and Mr. Gardner should arrive.

RECEIVING Emile's mysterious note, Mr. Gardner went with all possible speed to the young man's home, and informed Leah of what had transpired. "I do not understand this note," he said; "there is certainly a mystery about this summons. The man who came for Le Grande had a strange, mean-looking face; but we must hasten."

Leah, so long accustomed to sorrow, evinced no unusual emotion at these apprehensive words of Mr. Gardner; but calmly asked:

"Do you suppose any harm has come to my husband?"

"I cannot say, madam; I trust not."

"What motive could that man have had for deceiving Emile?"

"Mercy knows, but it will not do to trust these treacherous Spaniards too far. Still his story may have been a truthful one. He was undoubtedly a sailor. We will at least go and see. The pony and chaise are ready."

"Take care of my darling, Margarita," said Leah, as she kissed her sleeping child, and stepped out to the waiting volante.

"Now drive fast, Mr. Gardner. My heart misgives me."

Without replying, Mr. Gardner urged forward the fleet pony, and they did not slacken their speed until street after street had been traversed, corner upon corner turned, and they were in sight of the Plaza de la Mar, with its myriads of ships' masts and flags in view.

Then, driving more slowly, Mr. Gardner turned upon the dock of pier number three, and looked eagerly forward. There was no ship there.

Alighting from the chaise, Leah and Mr. Gardner approached a party of ship-hands at work there, and asked:

"Is not this pier number three, where an American vessel has been anchored?"

"Yes, seor, but the American vessel has been out of port an hour."

"Out of port an hour!" repeated Leah, in dismay. "Where is my husband, then?"

Mr. Gardner shook his head dubiously, and said, "He may have gone with them."

"Gone with them?" said Leah wildly. "Gone!" she uttered again, and then sank helpless upon the wharf.

Mr. Gardner, deeply moved, lifted her again into the chaise, with the assurance that her husband in all probability had returned to his place of business.

Once more at the bank, Mr. Gardner was disappointed to find that Emile had not returned, but instead, another scrap of paper was awaiting him, bearing these dreadfully significant words:

"They have stolen me away, to take me back to my native State, to answer for a fiendish crime of which I am not guilty. Send my wife after me as soon as--"

Here Emile had stopped for want of time. He had thrown the note into the hands of the same slave who had carried the first one.

"Take that to Gardner & Company, and they will pay you," he said, as the Tigress pushed from shore.

The ship had started; and Emile, alone in darkness and despair, tried vainly to conjecture whence this mysterious trouble had come, and what would be its probable result.

The captain of the Tigress, as has been said, was a mercenary and rapacious man, caring no more for a bleeding country than does a bird of prey for a bleeding dove. So long as he obtained the gold of his impoverished countrymen, and eluded the grasp of the blockading fleet that so vigilantly guarded every important port, he was contented. To the care of this man, this iron-hearted captain, Rebecca Mordecai had committed herself, in her endeavor, as she said, "to recall Emile Le Grande to the bar of justice."

"If you land me safely there, captain, I will give you gold. If you bring me safely back with the culprit, I will give you more."

Haralson, aware that the coffers in the Mordecai vault were well-filled with the coveted ore, pledged himself, and swore a terrible oath, that his ocean wanderer should accomplish this trip, even at the cost of the last drop of his heart's blood. How successful he was in landing and treacherously inveigling his victim into the ship, has been seen. Then, after two days of rather tempestuous sailing in a tropical sea, dodging here and there, for fear of being pounced upon by the maritime monsters he sought to elude, Haralson landed, at length, at an inlet, obscure but well- known to him, upon the low, sandy shore of the Palmetto State. With downcast heart, Emile once more set foot upon his native soil, and at the bidding of his captor followed sullenly in the way she led.

Chagrined, stung, maddened almost, he trod the devious way that led him back once more-back, back, to the Queen City. Not back to his father's comfortable home, for that, alas! was unoccupied, and the family refugees in a foreign land. But back again, in a felon's manacles, to find lodgment in a felon's cell-back to solitude and despair, when at length, the grim old turnkey turned the grating bolt upon him, and he was left alone in prison.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE war still raged. Everywhere in all the beleaguered land, the tide of brothers' blood flowed apace. Bitterness grew with every hour, and not one heaven-toned voice was heard above the din of carnage, saying, "Stay the madness, and let the blood stop flowing."

The end was not yet reached, the great problem of this unnatural conflict not yet solved. The bombardment of the Queen City still continued, though with little hope of its surrender. But the shelling went on, as though this murderous rain of death were but a merry pastime, on those summer days. The fort was now deemed impregnable; and yet the hope of its surrender was one that could not die in the hearts of the beleaguerers. Day after day, they assaulted and reassaulted, and day by day were filled with disappointment.

At last, one bright June day was ushered in by a terrific boom, and then, as if summoning the last spark of hope and determination, the grim mouths of the cannon belched forth, for many hours, such a rain of shot and shell as will ever be remembered. The sky was blackened early with the cloud of smoke that rolled up from the sea-the sulphurous smoke that pervaded every nook of the city, and was borne away upon every hurrying breeze to the far-off hills and valleys.

One might well imagine the scene a very inferno; so terrible was the conflict. Stern, dark, and resolute, Defiance stood for hours-not a gun dismounted, not a man dismayed. But the day grew late, and still the booming cannons roared. The heavens above were overcast, as though nature were ready with a flood of tears to weep over the deeds of humanity. The lightning flashed, and the guns flashed, and here and there and everywhere the dreadful shells fell thick and fast.

At length one fell upon the ramparts of Defiance and exploded-exploded with a crash of fury that said to every listening ear, "Some dreadful deed is done."

Alas! alas! The wild crash sounded the death-knell of one brave, noble heart, and crushed countless hopes as George Marshall's soul went out. The murderous fragment of a shell penetrated his brain, and his life was ended in a flash.

Let nothing more be told of the sad story; nothing but simply this: he was killed, and the troops left in dismay and disorder-killed and borne to the last embrace of the wounded heart that knew no after years of healing-killed at Defiance, the place of weird, mysterious terror to the widowed heart from the days of her sunny girlhood-killed and buried away under the magnolia shade, among the hundreds of brave hearts that perished in the same unhappy cause.

CHAPTER XXXVII.