Warren made no answer, and in a short time the visitor passed on. With senses strained to their utmost tension, he watched the shades of night envelope the landscape. He listened to the striking of the clock in the corridor outside his cell, tolling the lagging hours, with beating heart. Gradually all sound died away and the hush of night fell upon the earth, broken only by the fury of the storm which now broke scattering destruction in its wake. Far off the river sounded a mimic Niagara as it swelled beyond its boundaries. In the midst of his anxiety the young man noted the strange coincidence of the storms which had attended three critical periods in his history while in America. With this thought in his mind he heard the clock toll off twelve strokes. As the last one died slowly away there came a thundering knock at the outer prison door. It came again, and yet again. He heard a door slam and then the voice of the jailer, “What do you want?” “We are from Andrew County, with a prisoner we want put in jail for safe keeping.” “Who is he?” “A notorious horse thief.” “Have you a warrant?” “No; but it’s all right.” “I can’t take a man without authority.” “If you don’t it will be too bad; he’s a desperate character, and we’ve had hard work to catch him. We’ll satisfy you in the morning that it’s all right.” The jailer went down and let them in. When they were inside where the light fell upon their faces he started back with the cry: “It’s Allen Pinks!” The men with him were Maybee and old John Brown. “Yes, Mr. Owens,” said Captain Brown grimly, “it’s the boy, and it’s too late to make a noise. If you resist or give an alarm, you are a dead man. The lower door is guarded, and the jail surrounded by an armed force.” Warren beheld the scene from between the bars of his cell door with anxious heart; even as he looked he saw a dark object pass behind the group and advance along the corridor wall, but his attention was drawn from the shadow as a door opened far down the row and Bill Thomson, fully dressed, faced the group, pistol in hand. He advanced step by step with his eyes fixed upon the negro lad. The boy involuntarily uttered a cry and covered his face with his hands. “Well, sir! if it ain’t Winona! Looks interestin’, Owens, that you couldn’t tell a gal dressed up in boys clo’s! This strikes me heavy.” Warren standing helpless in his cell saw and heard all, and understood many things that had puzzled him. There are loves and loves; but Warren told himself that the love of the poor forsaken child before him was of the quality which we name celestial. All the beauty and strength of the man, and every endowment of tenderness came upon him there as the power came upon Samson; and he registered a promise before heaven that night. “Halt!” cried Captain Brown, as Thomson moved a step nearer. “Halt, or you’re a dead man!” “So it is murder you propose to commit?”