Battle — Victory — Death. 1 3 1 



Buz crept about a little to stretch her legs, and 

 finally settled herself for the night on the handle of 

 the lattice window. 



Ten o'clock sounded from the belfry of the old 

 church down in the village — eleven o'clock — mid- 

 night — and the old couple were sleeping soundly. 

 But if they had been awake soon after midnight, 

 they would have heard a stealthy, scraping sound ! 

 What was it ? 



It was the convict, engaged in removing the lead 

 round one of the panes of glass close to the handle 

 of the window. The knife that he was us'ing was 

 curved, and strong, and sharp ; and in his hands, and 

 close to the cruel face that was bending over the 

 work, it had a murderous look. 



A hammer with a long handle, such as is used for 

 breaking stones, stuck out from his coat pocket. 



He wore no mask — that was not necessary ; for if 

 either of the old people woke when he was once in 

 the room, there should be no one left alive to give 

 evidence against him — he had quite made up his 

 mind about that. And as he could hardly draw the 

 stocking from under their very pillow without wak- 

 ing them, he meant murder! 



Murder was plainly written on his scowling face, 

 and expressed in every motion of his body. 



