A tall, black-bearded man came through the bushes. Behind him followed three or four stalwart youths, with long-barrelled rifles over their shoulders. But before another word was spoken the first man leaped across a ditch and came toward William, saluting as he did so. Then it was seen that he wore a ragged Continental uniform. "Well met indeed, and God bless you, Lieutenant Frothingham! Methinks you are in time to aid us." The youths who were with him also came to an awkward salute. "We have the green-coated women-slayers cornered," he continued. "Not one of them will escape. There were some 'Lobster Backs' with them. They will suffer for the doings at Lyons Farms, I'll warrant you." "Are the English near us?" inquired William, his heart beating fast. "Ay, and the Hessians too! They were driven back in their efforts to reach Elizabethtown, and we have been gathering our forces for an attack this afternoon. You rank me, sir," he continued. "I am but Sergeant Ralston, and my elbow touched yours at Princeton and Harlem, you may remember. Come now, sir, will you take command? We have some brave hearts with us." William half faltered. Here, indeed, was a predicament. [TO BE CONTINUED.] IN THE TOWER OF MANY STORIES. LADY ARABELLA STUART. BY MRS. LEW. WALLACE. One of the most familiar names to the student of English history is that of Lady Arabella Stuart, who was long a constant source of alarm to James I., because she was born near the throne. She never urged her claim nor appeared to covet the crown; daughter of Charles, Earl of Lennox, and cousin to the King, she inherited a full share of the beauty and misfortunes of her race. A lovely girl, full of wit and grace, gifted with the gentle art of making friends, she was the life of a lifeless court. Many matches were proposed to the sovereign, who had power to make or break a marriage for her. Suitors of various rank and countries knelt at her feet, and it was told that even Henri the Great of France had dreams of seating the blue-eyed Countess with the wavy tresses on the throne of Charlemagne. So passed her youth; and in her thirty-fifth year James, by way of banter, told the maiden she had remained fancy free to suit him long enough; she might now wed whom she would. Poets, adventurers, courtiers, and knights of high lineage kissed her white hand, but came no nearer the heart, which beat faster for none but William Seymour, afterward Marquis of Hertford, a youth of twenty-three years. Only the stars were witness as they sealed their vows and oath, and the secret kept well for a season. But a bird in the air carried the matter to Windsor, and Seymour was arrested and brought before the Council to answer for the outrage--betrothal in secrecy. He denied everything; swore he had not thought of anything but pastime. What did he want with a wife ten years older than himself? And so the rumor was forgotten with other court gossip.