Chapter 9 THERE MUST NOT BE A SINGLE TRACE LEFT TO MARK THE SPOT OF THE GRAVE YOU ARE NOW DIGGING, SAID THE MUFFLED STRANGER.

The old grave digger worked on faster and faster by the fitful light of the carriage lamp, with the wild night winds howling about him, and the perspiration streaming down his face, as the stranger stood over him covering his heart with the deadly revolver.

"That will do, my man," he said, as old Adam paused for breath a moment. "That is deep enough, I guess. It will not take long to place its future tenant therein; then you must replace the earth and pack the snow so carefully about it that it would not attract the attention of the casual passer-by. Do you comprehend?"

"Yes," answered the old grave digger, and it seemed to him that his own voice sounded like nothing human.

The stranger turned and walked leisurely to the coach in waiting.

Old Adam would have fled from the spot in mortal terror, but that his limbs were trembling and refused to carry him.

He leaned heavily on his spade, asking himself in growing fright-what terrible mystery was this that fate had drawn him into, and awaiting with quaking heart what would follow.

He had not long to wait. The stranger who had stepped to the carriage evidently proposed to lose no time.

In less time than it takes to recount it, he had lifted from the vehicle a slender figure, closely wrapped in a long dark garment, and as he did so a second person stepped from the coach-a man, closely muffled like his companion-and wearing his soft hat pulled low over his eyes.

One glance at the flickering light of the carriage lamp fell upon them, bearing the slender figure between them, and old Adam's heart fairly stood still with horror.

He recognized them at once as the parties who had stood before the altar in the old stone church scarcely an hour before.

Great God! could it be? Ah, yes, it must be the body of the beautiful, hapless young bride they were bringing to this wild and lonely grave.

How did she happen to die? She who had been so full of bounding life but one short hour before-only the all-seeing eye of the God above could tell-ay, could solve this horrible mystery.

Another moment, and in utter silence, the slender figure was lowered into the frozen ground by the two strangers.

This accomplished, the same man turned to old Adam again, saying, abruptly:

"Now finish your work as speedily as possible, I repeat the caution-mind-not a trace must be visible when you have accomplished your task, to mark the spot."

No word from the old grave digger answered him. He could not have uttered a single syllable if his very life had depended upon it.

While the other had been speaking, a gust of wind had for a single instant tossed aside the heavy cloth that covered the face, and old Adam saw beyond all doubt that it was indeed the lovely young creature who had within that hour been made a bride, and with that terrible discovery came another-there was, as sure as fate, a flush upon the beautiful face of her whom they were consigning to the tomb.

"Hold!" he cried out with all his strength, drawing back from his work, shaking with terror. "The-the-girl is not dead; there is color-"

A fierce oath from the lips of both men simultaneously cut his words short.

"The girl is dead," exclaimed the man who had so far done the talking. "That is blood you see on her face. She had a hemorrhage. Go on with your work, you fool-or, here! give me the spade. I will make a short shift of it."

But as the stranger uttered these words, stepping quickly forward to put the thought into execution, a sudden thought, like an inspiration, occurred to the ancient grave digger.

"No-no-I will finish my work," he muttered. "I-I-can do it best, as I-I-understand it-and-and-you, would not."

"Make all haste, then; it is growing bitter cold. We shall all freeze to death."

"Could you not get into the coach, sir, to keep warm?" suggested old Adam; "you can be of no aid to me, you know. When I have finished-you-you can step out and see if it is done to your satisfaction."

For a moment the stranger hesitated, then said, sharply:

"I think I will take your advice, my man; my feet are about as numb as they could well be, I assure you; and as you say, my standing here will not help you. I can watch from the carriage window, and when the work is done step out and look at it."

With that he hurried quickly to the vehicle, and with a thankfulness in his heart that words are weak to describe, and with a mental "God be praised," the old grave digger bent to his task with renewed energy.

Both men watched narrowly and anxiously, as spadeful after spadeful of dirt quickly disappeared from the white ground. Then the white heaping snow was leveled over the dark narrow space, and the grave digger announced that his work was completed.

"I do not know as it is worth while to examine it; the old fellow knows his business," remarked Halloran to his companion, who was by this time fairly well under the weather from large draughts of brandy he had drunk from a bottle he had seized from the bar. "Step up on the box beside the driver"-thrusting a bank note into the old grave digger's nervous, trembling hand-"we will take you along the road as far as we go."

For an instant old Adam hesitated, but it was only for an instant, for he said to himself he must not arouse the suspicion of this stranger by refusing to ride, especially as he had begged for that permission so short a time before. He could frame no reasonable excuse for asking to remain behind.

Marking the spot as best he could in the intense darkness, he climbed up to the driver's box as he had been bidden, and took his seat.

With a sharp cut of the whip upon their flanks, the horses were started, and swaying to and fro with their every motion as they dashed along over the uneven road, the coach sped onward.

No word fell from the driver's lips, and old Adam was too much excited to vouchsafe a remark.

He knew that the men, as well as the rig, did not belong thereabouts, for he well knew every team in the village, and those of the adjoining farmers.

How far they traversed thus he could not judge, but to his intense relief he saw at last that they were passing a familiar landmark, an old bridge that spanned a dry creek which was scarcely a dozen rods from his own door.

"I will leave you here," said Adam. "I thank you for giving me a lift."

Again the coach came to a halt, and the man within put out his head, inquiring sharply:

"What is the matter now?"

"This man wants to get off here."

"Very well," replied Halloran, drawing back into the warmth of the coach and giving the matter no further thought, and resuming the castles in the air which he had been building when the vehicle came to a stop. "I shall see that you carry out to the fullest detail the little plot I am laying this night for you," he muttered, looking steadily at his companion, who had dozed off into a heavy stupefied sleep upon the opposite seat, "and when you come into possession of the money which your marriage to the little heiress to-night will bring you, I shall come in for the lion's share of it. You dare not refuse my demands, no matter how exorbitant they may be, under penalty of exposure. That will be the sword in my hands that will always hang over your head.

"It would have been more difficult to accomplish my scheme if the girl had lived. It is best as it is. Dead people tell no tales. Of course they will search for the girl when they discover that she has eloped, but will believe she is cleverly eluding them or traveling about the country. I have always had golden dreams of a fortune that would be in my grasp some day, and now, lo! my dream is about to be realized."

While he was thus soliloquizing, old Adam, the grave digger, was standing silently in the road where they had set him down, then suddenly he turned abruptly-not toward his home-but as quickly as his aged limbs could carry him back over the ground the coach had just traversed, praying to Heaven to guide him to the spot where he had dug the lonely grave of the beautiful, hapless young bride of an hour.