He raised the knife, and Faith, with upturned and straining eyes, saw it glittering in the sunshine. She strove to cry out, but in vain. From the parched throat no sound proceeded. She saw the point about to enter her bosom. She shut her eyes, and mentally prayed for her father. At that moment, as the deadly instrument approached her heart, she heard a voice exclaim, "Madman forbear!" She opened her eyes: the knife had dropped from her father's hand; he staggered and leaned against the altar. A few words will explain the timely interruption. When Armstrong and his daughter left the carriage to cross the field, the mind of Felix was filled with a thousand apprehensions. He would have followed had he dared to leave the horses, but this, his fear of the consequences if the high-spirited animals were left to themselves, forbade. With anxious eyes he pursued the receding foot-steps of his master and young mistress until they were lost to sight, and then, with a foreboding of evil, hid his face in the flowing mane of one of the horses, as if seeking comfort from his dumb companion. Some little time passed, which to the fearful Felix seemed hours, when, whom should he see but the man whom of all the world he dreaded most. It was Holden, bounding along with strides which showed that the habits of his forest-life were not forgotten. At any other time the apparition of the Solitary would have imparted anything but pleasure, but now it was as welcome as a spar to a shipwrecked sailor. Holden advanced straight to the carriage, but before he could speak the black addressed him, "Oh, Mr. Holden, if you love Mr. Armstrong and Miss Faith, go after them quick; don't stop a minute." "Where are they?" said Holden. "They go in that direcshum," answered Felix, pointing with his chin, across the field. "How long ago?" "Ever so long; Oh, good Mr. Holden, do hurry," said Felix, whose anxieties made him magnify the progress of time. Holden asked no further questions, but increasing his speed, hastened on an Indian lope in the direction indicated, following the traces in the grass. As he hurried on, his dream occurred to him. The features of the country were the same as of that he had traversed in his sleep: he remembered also, that the day of the week was Friday. As these thoughts came into his mind, they stimulated him to press on with increased speed, as if something momentous depended upon the swiftness of his motions. It was well he did so. A moment later might have been too late; a moment more and he might have seen the fair creature he so loved weltering in her blood. Too late to stay the uplifted hand of the deranged man with his own, he had uttered the cry which had arrested the knife.