But, hark! who are those that disturb the peace that broods like the wing of an angel over the city of the dead?

Under cover of the darkness and the rain, two dark, cloaked forms steal along the graveled walk and pause beside the spot where the dark, fresh-smelling earth is heaped in swelling mounds over the hapless father and daughter.

The light of a bull's-eye lantern, flashing transiently over the form and face of one, shows a tall, straight form, and features as handsome as those of a Greek god. He speaks:

"To your work, Perkins! They were so cursed long putting her into the ground that I feared my plot would fail! Hasten now. There is not a minute to lose. As it is, we may be too late!"

The man called Perkins produced a spade from under his cloak, and set to work, cautiously but rapidly throwing the earth off of one of the new graves.

"Are you sure you are right now, Perkins? I believe I should kill you if you made a mistake!" said the handsome man with the lantern, grinding a terrible oath between his white teeth.

"You'll not have the chance to wreak your dev'lish temper on me," said Perkins, in a familiar tone, as if addressing one with whom he was thoroughly acquainted. "I'm sure of what I'm doing. I saw them put her into this very hole this evening."

"Hurry up, then. What do you stop to talk for? Make your strokes as light as possible. You might be heard!" said the lantern-bearer, irascibly.

Perkins redoubled his exertions, but it seemed an age to his impatient employer before the dull, horrible thud of the spade announced that the coffin was reached.

"You'll have to help me git the coffin out," said Perkins. "It will be no easy job in this darkness and the pouring rain."

It was no easy job, as he had said, but their united efforts, with the usual appliances for such work, at length enabled them to raise it out of the grave and set it on the ground beside them. Even as they did so, a dreadful sound mingled with the sob of the wind and the putter of the rain. It was a low and smothered moan from within the coffin!

"Great God, Perkins, wrench the lid off!" exclaimed the other, excitedly. "She revives!"

Again and again the low moan echoed within the coffin, having a horrible sound from within that prison-house of death, and fevering the blood of the waiting man who swore audibly at Perkins, whose swiftest efforts seemed like the progress of a snail to his impatient mood.

"Now, sir," said Perkins, at last, as panting, and perspiring, he threw off the lid of the elegant casket, "now, sir, there's your game!"

The man flashed the lantern light forward. It shone on a beautiful white face, fixed in unconsciousness, now, the dews of horror standing thick and wet on the brow, the lips bleeding where the pearly teeth had bitten them in anguish, the small, dimpled white hands clenched in the lace upon her breast that was frayed and torn with her frantic struggles at finding herself in that awful prison. But blessed unconsciousness had supervened, and she looked death-like indeed to the eyes that beheld her.

"Looks like she might be gone, sure enough, this time sir," said Perkins, uneasily.

"If she is, I'll kill you, d—n you!" cried the man. "I'll not be balked of my revenge like that. I'll glut it on somebody!"

Even while speaking he bent down and laid his hand upon her heart.

"No, she lives; I feel her heart beat faintly," he said. "Quick, Perkins, the cloak! It rains on her."

"The rain will revive her," said Perkins, as he unfolded a long, dark waterproof cloak and handed it to his companion.

The man lifted Queenie's slight form, and wrapped the long cloak over the bridal robe in which she had been buried.

"Now, then," he said, putting a thick roll of bank-notes into the man's hand, "cover up the grave, and remove every trace of this night's work. And—remember, one word of this to a living soul, and I'll send your black soul to the devil!"

"Mum's the word, sir!" answered the man, beginning to lower the empty coffin back into the grave.

His employer turned without another word and passed swiftly away through the rain and the darkness to the carriage that waited for him near the gates, bearing the unconscious girl in his arms.

He entered the carriage, deposited the still unconscious Queenie on a seat in a recumbent attitude, and holding her head in his arms, was whirled rapidly away through the murky night. For an hour or more he rode thus, and the carriage stopped at length before a cottage embowered in trees on the banks of a broad, dark river. He lifted his burden, stepped through the gate, and the carriage whirled away.

Hurrying up the steps, he paused on the low, ornate piazza that ran around the house, and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a neat-looking woman of middle age, who held a lamp above her head.

"Ah! it is you," was all she said.

"Yes, it is I; and I have brought back your mistress, Mrs. Bowers, as I said I would, though you did have the impudence to insinuate that I had made way with her," he answered, in a tone of rough pleasantry.

"You are none too good to have done it," she answered, with a certain cool and familiar impertinence.

"Confound your impudence—lead the way to her room," he said, carelessly. "She is ill and needs attention."

Mrs. Bowers went up the stairway and opened the door into a large, airy room, exquisitely furnished and draped with hangings of white lace over rose-colored silk. Costly pictures and statuettes adorned the walls, and all the appointments were of elegant design, and evidently selected regardless of expense.

Mrs. Bowers held back the sweeping lace canopy of the low French bed, and the man laid his fair burden down upon it, after removing the dark cloak.

"What ails her?" asked the woman, starting as a low moan broke from the lips of the only half-conscious girl.

"I told you she was ill," he said, curtly. "She has been in a swoon. Get restoratives."

Mrs. Bowers obeyed him, and was soon bathing the pale face and limp, nerveless hands, with refreshing perfume.

Directly Queenie started up, passed her hand across her brow and looked about her. An expression of loathing swept across her face.

"Are you glad to find yourself in your old quarters, my dear?" asked the man, sardonically, from the window to which he had retreated.

She started as if someone had struck her a terrible blow, and looked across the room. Fear, horror, despair, were all blended in the look she cast upon his handsome, satanically smiling face.