feared his resolution might give way; opened the front door, for Harry had no enemies, and his door was unbolted, and entered the outer room. The door communicating with the inner room was open, so that he could see within; and perhaps never was there a greater contrast than between the occupants of those two rooms. In one was a man eaten up by fierce passions, desperate and hardened, with all that is noble in the human soul burnt out as with a hot iron; in the other sat an old man whose benevolent features beamed with good will to all mankind. There was scarcely a wrinkle in the broad full brow; the hair was sprinkled with gray; but what of that? His eye was bright; his mouth teemed with good nature; and his heart--God bless thee, old Harry Harson! what need to speak of thy heart? The intruder had come in so noiselessly, although his motions were rapid and bold, that Harson had not heard him, but sat reading a newspaper, and was not a little startled in looking over it to see a man seated within a few feet of him, and gazing at him with eyes as wild and bright as those of a maniac. 'Who are you, in the name of heaven?' ejaculated he, too surprised even to rise, and looking at the stranger as if he still doubted the reality of his being in that spot. The man laughed, savagely: 'Look at me, my master; look at me _well_; you've seen me afore. Try and recollect it.' Harson's embarrassment was not of long duration, and he examined the man from head to foot. A vague recollection of having met him somewhere, mingled with an indefinable feeling of suspicion and pain, crossed Harson's mind as he studied the sunken features which were submitted unshrinkingly to his scrutiny. He thought, and pondered, and wondered; and still the man remained unmoved. He looked again; the man changed his position, and the light fell upon him from another direction. Harson knew him at once. He started up: 'Murderer, I know you!' The man was on his feet at the same moment. 'Down to your seat, Sir!' said he, in a loud, savage tone. 'You're right; but you cannot take me alive, nor will mortal man. In that room,' said he, in a low tone, and pointing toward the dark stair-case which led to the upper part of the house, 'I killed Tim Craig--the only man that ever loved me. He's been after me ever since!' He leaned his face toward Harson, and looking stealthily over his shoulder said in a whisper: 'He's waiting for me at the door. He sat down on the stoop when I came in. I don't know why I came here, but _he_ made me do it, and I must see where I killed him. It wasn't me. It was Rust; it was Rust. Hark!' He cast a hasty glance in the room behind him. 'I'm going, Tim, I'm going,' said he. 'Quick! quick! give me the light!'