If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas, And live with Richard from the reach of hell. Go, hie thee from this slaughter-house Lest thou increase the number of the dead.” —KING RICHARD III. WHEN Col. Baker ordered Mrs. Marmor to leave her home, she would not ask shelter in the house of her nearest neighbor—that most Christian Jew, Dan Lemfield—lest her presence might jeopardise the safety of her husband; and she stood upon the doorsteps with her infant in her arms, and little Louie beside her, gazing up and down the street in utter dismay, and not knowing whither to flee. Only a few steps at her left was the drill-room, the centre about which all the warlike preparations were arranged, and every dwelling in the beleaguered square, except her own and Lemfield’s, was the abode of at least one colored family, and therefore clearly unsafe. “Where is my papa? Why don’t he come and go with us, mamma?” asked the little boy in the piping voice of childish grief. “Hush, child! Mamma’s glad he is not here. Keep still and maybe the soldiers won’t hurt us.” “Will they hurt us maybe, mamma?” The boy now began to wail piteously, and the babe cried in sympathy. “Hush, Louie! Mamma will tell you,” said Mrs. Marmor. She sat down upon the steps, in presence of the armed foe by which the street was occupied, and, placing her own person in range of any possible shot that might be aimed at Marmor’s boy, she spoke in low and rapid tones:— “If you cry, these men will see you; and if you keep still, maybe they won’t notice, and sister will keep still too. You don’t want little sister to get hurt. You will be a brave man, like papa, won’t you? Papa isn’t afraid, and he keeps still.” Pressing both his little hands over his mouth for an instant, and choking back one or two great sobs, the child looked up into his mother’s eyes, smiling through his tears, and repeated—“I cried unto God with my voice, even unto God with my voice, and he gave ear unto me. Mamma, there’s Mr. Dan. See! Mamma, see!” Turning, she saw the Jew at his door, beckoning her with earnest gesticulation, although beside him stood the burly Rufus Baker. As she approached, she heard Mr. Lemfield say something about hostages, and Baker replied with a significant wink and nod. “We will all die together, if we must,” said the distressed wife and mother, mentally. “Co im, Mrs. Marmor. Co im,” said Lemfield. “Don’t sthop out here mit de leetle kinder. You huspand go vay? Dat ish pad. May pe he’ll come.” A quick glance at his shrewd face, and she accepted his invitation, and entered the hospitable door with her little ones. Dan soon followed, and taking her aside, said hastily, “You must not tell. You pe like you know not vare de man ist. I tink I co get old Bob and feed ’im viskey. Ven he trunk he shleeps much, and vants more viskey. He pe here he not tink you huspand be here; and ve knows he pe killing no mon. Now you take care.” Poor Mrs. Marmor took the cue quickly.