In the middle of the little town stood the shop of a Jew dealer in old clothes. Caution forced her to speak calmly. But I must—I ought—” “I MUST talk about this. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. At first she could not tell what it was; but as her eyes became accustomed to the light, she recognized the old coat. The terrors and anxieties of the last few months seemed to have fallen from her, to have passed away like an ugly dream, dismissed with a shudder even from the memory. She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk.
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