“Yolk-fellows in arms, Let us to France!” Shakspeare. “You are late, my friend,” I said, as the gipsy stopped beside me and Mr. Hartley. “I am too late to warn you against the attempt, but in good time to apprise you of the extent of the danger you have eseaped, and implore you, as you value life, to profit by it,” was the reply. “You are then aware that I have been assailed, and providentially rescued?” “I am.” “Did you witness the attempt upon my young friend’s life?” asked Mr. Hartley. “No; had I been near enough, the attempt would never have been made.” “Then you must have obtained a knowledge of it in a marvellously short time after the occurrence.” “I have,” replied the gipsy; “and, as time is precious, I shall at once tell the means by which I gained that information. I had received an intimation that certain agents would be employed, and, anxious to learn the plans that would be adopted, I repaired to a place where I was well aware the ruffians could be met with. Earlier it would have been useless to have sought them--crime and darkness are companions--and the boldest ruffian of the party dared not venture from his skulking-place in the broad light of day. I went and found them, not preparing for their murderous essay, but foiled in the attempt, and venting, in impotent execrations, their rage at disappointment. From one maimed wretch I heard the particulars of their night adventure, after his companions, leaving him to my charge, had gone to report their failure to the scoundrels who had employed them.” “And after the danger’s past, you come to congratulate my young friend on his deliverance! Methinks, it would have been doing better service to have apprised him of his peril, and not entrusted his escape from the murderer’s knife to the accidental assistance rendered by some passing strangers.” “Had I not already cautioned him sufficiently?” returned the gipsy. “If he allowed himself to be made the dupe of an artful woman--one with the semblance of purity and innocence veiling a heart that from infancy has been familiarized with crime--and whose beauty seems to be given so lavishly, only to render her a greater curse to the community--was I to blame? All that a woman’s art could do was done. Were he the offspring of first love, his safety eould not be dearer to a mother. Once more, Hector O’Halloran, I come to warn you. Danger is averted, but not passed; and I repeat my former admonition: regard every stranger who approaches you as an enemy!” “But, woman, with the knowledge you possess, why not end this state of insecurity? Tell us whence danger is to come--denounce his assassins--and the laws of England are quite sufficient to protect my young friend from those who seek his life.”