It doesn't look bad, does it?" "Mercy, no! That wasn't the thought. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. "You will find her new. "Trenchard," he muttered; "Aliva Trenchard—they were right, then, as to the name. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it. “That’s what we narcs have to do.
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