her father.

 

“There are two ways out of the room,” cried Ferrier; “there is the door, and

there is the window. Which do you care to use?”

 

His brown face looked so savage, and his gaunt hands so threatening, that his

visitors sprang to their feet and beat a hurried retreat. The old farmer

followed them to the door.

 

“Let me know when you have settled which it is to be,” he said, sardonically.

 

“You shall smart for this!” Stangerson cried, white with rage. “You have defied

the Prophet and the Council of Four. You shall rue it to the end of your days.”

 

“The hand of the Lord shall be heavy upon you,” cried young Drebber; “He will

arise and smite you!”

 

“Then I’ll start the smiting,” exclaimed Ferrier furiously, and would have

rushed upstairs for his gun had not Lucy seized him by the arm and restrained

him. Before he could escape from her, the clatter of horses’ hoofs told him that

they were beyond his reach.

 

“The young canting rascals!” he exclaimed, wiping the perspiration from his

forehead; “I would sooner see you in your grave, my girl, than the wife of

either of them.”