mold between the handsome and the noble that is commonly called "fine-looking."

"Miss Light," Lloyd said, joyously, "don't try to make an impression on me! You might succeed, and that would be wrong; for I have only this day engaged myself to the prettiest maid in these mountains."

"Splendid! Romantic! A hunter, a hero, a lover, everything noble in one !—Oh, he must go and challenge these robbers, papa!"

As they walked along, talking and speculating, and waiting for an opportunity, or for some decision, on the subject of these marauders, the sky gradually became overspread with clouds and it grew cold and chilling. The robbers within the gates had built a fire in the small square building there, and could be seen stooping before it, or counseling together.

“Are you an abolitionist ?" Lloyd asked Senator Pittson.

'No, no; I am a Republican."

"A Black Republican?" asked Quantrell, suspiciously.

'That's a mere nickname. The few abolitionists also call us names, because we will not assault slavery in the old States, or break up the Union, so dear, I hope, to everybody. The Republicans merely reassert the doctrine of nature and of the founders of the republic, that slavery is a colonial thing, not in the blood and circulation of our system, and therefore not to be allowed in the external, new domain of the country. It has taken the noble empire of Texas, by colonizing there, and using American patriotic ambition to acquiesce in the evil. It shall not so colonize and pervert the noble empire of the Missouri. With pity for our countrymen tied up in old slavery, we shall not pity ourselves if we give it our Northern heritage."

"It seems to me, sir," Quantrell dubiously remarked, “that if slavery is so bad a thing, it is in danger from your people everywhere. Do you think a Northern man is as brave as a Southern one ?"

"Not as fierce, but I think as brave. Not as decided, but I think more persevering. They are not as conscious of their principles as your friends are, because theirs are older and apparently forgotten, while the tremors of slavery have raised new and glittering doctrines which must perish if liberty is to live. When the great power of Britain was exerted to suppress the young American Republic, the only people they never overran were New England

and the Alleghany mountaineers. King's Mountain echoed to Bunker Hill. Since that day, has come the West, the new power on this planet, I believe !”

They went in silence to watch the mysterious people again, and Light Pittson cried :

"Why, look! Papa, they are carrying spears. See how they flash against that firelight! This is glorious!-When are you going to challenge them, sir?"

"This is a good time," Quantrell replied; "I see the gate has been opened to admit wagons and horses. Please keep my gun and dog, Senator Pittson!"

People crowded around to see what Quantrell, who had become a man of leadership in the eyes of the passengers, meant now to do.

"I don't like to see you go down there alone," the senator said. "It appears too much like going vicariously for me, who suggested it."

"Let me tie this ribbon to your jacket, sir," Miss Light exclaimed. "I took it from my neck. Some lady always crowned the brave knight."

She tied the blue ribbon upon him in real admiration.

"A moment," called Senator Pittson, as Lloyd started down some rickety steps from the platform. "If anything happens to

you, who is to receive your property?"

"My father, Abel Quantrell, in Baltimore."

'Stop! That man must not go.—I command you not to do my errand!"

The placid temperament of the senator was all lost now. attempted to rush after Quantrell.

He

"Hold that man! He has a family upon the train. If he follows me and exposes himself, I shall lose my life for him," Quantrell replied.

The train-hands and passengers seized the senator and pressed him back.

Quantrell kissed his hand to Miss Light, and bounded down the steps.

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Oh, what a gentleman of romance!" she spoke.

'He is a gentleman," said Senator Pittson; "I had heard other

wise. Dear Light," he turned to his daughter, "do you say your prayers?"

“Oh, yes, papa.”

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'Pray for that young man as if he were my brother!"

CHAPTER XIII.

LLOYD'S DESTINY CHANGED.

THE armory-gate was open wide, and a carriage drawn by two horses had already passed in, and four horses, pulling a large farmwagon, had stopped in the gateway.

"Jump out, you colored men, and take a spear apiece. We're short of hands for a spell yet, and want you to do guard duty. Be lively!"

Certain negro men, impelled by others who carried guns, dropped clumsily out of the wagon and almost immediately were seen carrying sharp things on poles. The same nasal, military voice continued:

"Get out here, colonel!-You, too, old man! Fetch in your son! All report yonder, to the commander!"

Lloyd looked at the man, endeavoring in the moving crowd to distinguish him, but, before he could be satisfied, the same voice exclaimed at Quantrell's ear:

"What! You captured, too, minstrel ?"

The young hunter turned, and, recognizing the face, he spoke in astonishment:

Stevens?"

'Anything you like. Come right to me! Don't you put down your hands, or I'll tickle your heart!"

Stevens-the same he had drunk with at the spring-house, it seemed-thrust a pistol at Lloyd Quantrell's body. There was no doubt about his earnestness, and Quantrell walked at once to the pistol's muzzle, saying there :

"Then you're one of these robbers?"

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Anything you like. You're my prisoner. Go 'lang there, now!” He pointed to some low buildings, and the gates behind him closed with a jangling sound. In the same direction had gone the

other persons; and Lloyd, getting the instinct of obedience from his finely strung automatic captor, walked promptly up to the front of the nearest building.

It had three doors, and the farther door opened into a separate and smaller apartment, which contained only a bench and a stove, and some persons huddling by the fire.

The larger room was nearly square, and contained two engines to suppress fires-low engines on wheels, with hand levers at the sides to be worked by double rows of men-and leather hose and a hose-cart; and also axes and other appurtenances of a fire company hung up under the open-beamed roof. The floor and walls were of brick, and were littered with arms, fagots, tools, and blankets, hastily distributed there.

Quantrell walked uninvited into the engine-house amid blacks and whites, all armed and standing listlessly or nervously about, and he picked up the fireman's horn:

"Put her right in now!" shouted Lloyd; "run her for all she's worth! Liberty's the bird!”

"That's the case to-night," grimly spoke Stevens, “but you'll cut no more loud capers like that, friend Quantrell! This engineroom is for the troops, white and black; you must go into the watchman's part with the prisoners."

Two fagots were burning in black men's hands in the enginehouse.

"Hold on!" Lloyd exclaimed; "what are these things?"

The negro he seized the fagot from gave it up with mouth ajar, and in the other hand held awkwardly a spear—the very fisherman's gig, as the burning fagot showed, that Quantrell had twice seen in the Maryland mountains.

Ashby," he said, looking up at the negro's face," you here, and a robber?

"I spec so," the negro hoarsely urged; "dey say I'm one of 'em. I don't know."

The fagot was seen to be splints of hard and soft wood bound together; the fisherman's gig was the pattern of many spears seen in black men's hands or leaning against the wall of the engine-house -bright, glittering spears, too small, sharp, and narrow for display. Stevens," spoke Lloyd, "what does this mean? Spearsslaves? Are you arming negroes?"

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“Arming everybody!" cried Stevens, with a cool imprecation.

"Slavery is war and everlasting captivity. We've armed the under dog in the fight. The boot shall be upon the other leg.”

The blood left Quantrell's lips and head, to hear this hard avowal, which seemed to the Marylander like hollow blasphemy, unmeant and merely pretended.

"You will need an army, my indomitable friend, to carry out that idea."

"We have got it," Stevens exclaimed, in something between mockery and rapture; "see it hurrying yonder in the spirit realmthe cloud-bannered army of the Lord!"

As he raised his hand toward the small, wind-driven clouds trooping down the pallid gulf of sky between the black banks of mountains, Stevens seemed in a species of ecstasy, yet cold, like fishes disporting; and the weapons belted around him-pistols and a knife— shone coldly red in the flare of the fagots which burned, alarmed and drooping, like some of the negro robbers; yet others of these negroes had the appearance of boldness, like all the whites in the band, and, taking in the scene an instant as carefully as his stirred feelings would allow, Quantrell observed:

Stevens, if you're a lunatic, you're a good one. And I suppose you are the commander of these people?"

"I?" Stevens answered, self-scornfully. "Why, our commander is a man so great, I am not fit to be his orderly sergeant! I happen, through want of better recruits, to be third in the command, but I'm willing to be the last."

"Come, you shall see him; for he is talking to the prisoners."

As they stepped out of the cold engine-room, the night wind came in a shriek down the long, grassy corridor between the great armories, bringing some autumnal leaves from the regular lines of trees, and, in the softened wind-wail which followed, was blended a dog's inquiring howl.

'Albion!" spoke Lloyd, as his dog came with obsequious gladness to his feet.

The narrow watch-room contained men standing and others sitting, and all trying to get some warmth from the stove, for the weather was unusually keen for October on the Potomac. A voice of somewhat nervous tension, and of metallic sounding in that brickwalled corridor, spoke up from among the group:

"Your name will be a help to me, sir. Are you his grandson?"