"Hold on, Stoop! Hold on!" shouted Tiffles, with what was left of his breath. But the idiot only screamed, "Gosh thunder! Gorryfus!" and darted for the main aisle, intending to run a muck among his persecutors. There was a general scrambling of the boys to avoid this incarnated wrath. The whole female seminary, and all the ladies present, screamed together. CHAPTER VII. SCENES NOT IN THE BILLS. The enraged idiot struck out right and left, without hurting anybody--the objects of his vengeance contriving to elude him in the dark. Most of the sturdy blows which he dealt, using his arms like flails, fell upon the railings of the seats, and only bruised his hands. Just as he had caught a boy by the collar, and was about to take a twist in his hair, the door opened, and a light appeared. It came from three candles borne by three men. This apparition caused the furious idiot to suspend hostilities on the instant. All eyes were turned toward the three men. All voices were hushed. There was a whisper in the air that something strange was about to happen. The man who entered first was a stranger, who moved and looked about in the quick, nervous way born of city life. The other two men were well-known residents of the village. Some of the audience had had unpleasant cause to know them. Having locked the door, and stationed his associates in a position to command the windows, the stranger walked quickly up the aisle, bearing his lighted candle, and said, in a loud voice, which fell strangely on the hushed assemblage: "Marcus Wilkeson will be kind enough to give himself up. Upon my honor, he cannot escape." This was said with a charming politeness. A tall figure arose at the wall end of one of the back seats. "I am Marcus Wilkeson. What do you want with me, sir?" His voice trembled, and his face was livid. "To go with me to New York, Mr. Wilkeson," said the tall stranger, quickly. "Thank you for your promptness in answering. The only clue that I had, was the hasty measure I took of you this morning, when I was watching for an escaped convict at Cortlandt-street ferry. Perhaps you remember seeing me there, sir?" Marcus, though the sudden shock had almost stunned him, at once recalled the man who had eyed him narrowly at the ferry that morning. The two other candle bearers had stepped forward as Marcus declared himself, and were about to lay hold of him, when the first man smilingly pushed them back, and said: "Don't touch him. It's all right. Mr. Wilkeson is a gentleman, and will go quietly." To Marcus he said, apologetically: "Two Jersey constables I got to assist me. They don't do things exactly in the style of Detective Leffingwell." Marcus recognized the name; and so terrified was he at the thoughts which it conjured up, that his tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. The scene was like a horrid dream.