“Co im ’s house, Meester Marmor:——i’m ’s house quick!” said Dan Lemfield, opening the back-door of his dwelling. You be mine neighbor, and shall not be shot on mine dreshold. Co hide self! Co!” Marmor did not decline the invitation, but stepped quickly in, and passing to the parlor in front, peeped from behind the window shades, which Mrs. Lemfield had drawn closely down. At the opposite corner of the street, his most implacable enemy, the eldest son of Col. Baker, sat upon his horse, with self-complacent manner waiting the appearance of his prey, or the word of command from the great General. He was supported by eight or ten other men, not less vigilant. “Oh, Mr. Marmor!” besought Mrs. Lemfield, “do go up stairs, and keep out of sight. They have threatened about you so much that some of them will surely come in here, and kill you! Do go up, quick! quick!” Marmor obeyed, and immediately the host, who had been out, re-entered with wild eyes and white lips. “Vo ish dat mon, Sarah?” She signed with her hand, in reply; at the same time saying, in an indifferent tone, “Oh, he’s gone up, he is not here,” for their little child had entered, and she feared it might betray their guest. The excited Jew (for Lemfield was a Jew) leaped up the stairs, calling out as he ran, “Don’t shoot! It’s me—jist me. Oh, moine goot freund! Vat vill dese men to? Shenneral Paker say he vill hab de guns, oder he vill pekin to fire in von half hour. Colonel A. P., dat ole man you seen sthrapping on dem pig bistols by’me Post Office, he tole me close up mine par in’ leetle sthore. Vell, dey ish hab too much visky now; so I mind quick, I tell you! He tole same ting yo’ mudda, an’ she pe shut up.” “Where is she?” asked Marmor. “My golly! Se ist plucky ole voman. Se im leetle sthore—all ’lone by self. She not come avay.” “Where are my wife and children?” “Im house—your house. Dat ish pest blace. Nicht wahr? Pest not pe mit you.” “I don’t know,” replied Marmor, absently. “Oh, ya! Mon come here, mon sag, ‘Meester dare sure.’ Now co dis vay,” and he led the way to a loft; “Here co om roof van dey get you. Hark! Vat dat noise down stair ish?” The next instant Mrs. Marmor rushed into the chamber and threw her arms about her husband’s neck in a paroxysm of weeping. He folded her to his breast, and commanding a calm and cheerful tone, said, “Jane, Jane, don’t give way so. Why, I’m not afraid; I shall come off all right, and nobody will hurt you or the children. Our people are chivalrous, and won’t hurt a woman.”