"Yes," she answered, "and then--." She looked up, seeing him indistinctly in the flaring light of the candle. But in her mind there was a fair woman standing beside him. But for Elizabeth's idle words this vision would have been a reality instead of a a hopeless dream. She felt the pain of this so keenly now that it seemed to her it would have been a good thing if the ball had swerved half an inch to the left. Then her father, who had been found on his way back, came in hastily, and as Elizabeth glanced at his face she knew that life ought to be dear to her. "Elizabeth," he said, as Archdale left them, "have you not had enough of it yet? Come home now. You have already done a great work." The girl raised herself slowly, for she still felt a touch of faintness. "Yes, father, I will go home at once," she answered, "if you will tell me that it is the sort of thing that you have been trying all my life to teach me to do." After Mr. Royal had left her, and Nancy was asleep, Elizabeth lay a long time thinking. She perceived now the whole truth about Edmonson. She was in a coil of struggle, and perhaps of crime. It seemed as if she herself must be guilty, as all the consequences of what she had supposed the jest of a summer evening rose before her. Yet, for all this imagining, there was in her heart the comfort of innocence. In the morning the shadow of danger seemed to shrink away in the sunlight, and Elizabeth went back to her duties with a spirit firm, if not untroubled. She saw nothing to give her fresh alarm. She found that Edmonson had excused his act to the spectators as a touch of delirium accompanying fever, and the next day he had fever beyond question, though not enough to be very dangerous. [TO BE CONTINUED.] FOOTNOTES: [E] Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk. EDITOR'S TABLE. Brutal and inhuman deeds are not changed in character or color by differences in latitude or longitude. The people of Quitman, Ga., committed a deed of this character when they put the torch of the incendiary to a school-house where ignorant colored children, in charity's sweet name, were being nurtured into nobler manhood and womanhood. This act of inhumanity, clearly inspired if not wholly sanctioned by a majority sentiment in the community, is not a solecism in history. In 1832-3, Prudence Crandall taught a successful school for girls in Canterbury, Conn., to which she admitted a colored girl, an intelligent church member, who desired to prepare herself to teach children of her own color. All Canterbury was thrown into a state of intense excitement and indignation by this act, and Miss Crandall had to choose between the expulsion of her colored pupil and the loss of her white ones. She pluckily faced the tumult, refused to sacrifice what she regarded as a principle, and her fashionable school opened its doors as an institution for colored girls only.