“Larrabee, then a professional black-leg, was aboard, plying his trade.  My informant, a man whose veracity I could not doubt, was one of a group of bystanders, who saw him (Larrabee) fleece a young man out of several thousand dollars—­all he had in the world—­then, enraged by some taunting words from his victim, pull out a pistol and shoot him through the heart, just as they sat there on opposite sides of the gaming table; then with his revolver still in his hand, threatening with terrible oaths and curses, to shoot down any man who should attempt to stop him, he rushed on deck, jumped into the river, swam ashore and disappeared in the woods.”

“Horrible, horrible!” groaned Mr. Ross, hiding his face in his hands.  “And this murderer, this fiend in human form, would have married my daughter!” he cried, starting up in strong excitement.  “Why was he suffered to escape?  Where is he now?”

“The whole thing passed so quickly, my informant said, that every one seemed stunned, paralyzed with horror and fright till the scoundrel had made good his escape; beside there were several others of the same stamp on board—­desperate fellows, probably belonging to the same gang—­who were evidently ready to make common cause with the ruffian.

“That part of our country was, you know, in those days, infested with desperadoes and outlaws.”

“Yes, yes; but what is to be done now?  I shall of course send a note to Larrabee, at his hotel, telling him that all is at an end between him and Gertrude, forbidding him the house, and intimating that the sooner he leaves the vicinity the better.  But—­Gordon, I can never thank you sufficiently for this kindness; will you add to it by keeping the thing to yourself for the present?  I wouldn’t for the world have the story get into the papers.”

“Certainly, Ross!” returned his friend, grasping his hand in adieu.  “I understand how you feel.  There is but one person beside ourselves, who knows my errand here, and I can answer for his silence.”

“Who is it?”

“Mr. Hogg, a friend of your wife and daughters.”

The news brought by Mr. Gordon sent both Gertrude and her mother into violent hysterics, and Mr. Ross and an old nurse who had been in the family for years, had their hands full for the rest of the night.  It was a sore wound to the pride of both mother and daughter.

“The scoundrel! the wretch! the villain!” cried Gertrude.  “I can never hold up my head again; everybody will be talking about me, and those envious Miss Petitts and their mother will say, ’It’s just good enough for her; serves her right for being so proud of the grand match she was going to make.’  Oh dear, oh dear! why couldn’t that Gordon have staid away and held his tongue!”

“Gertrude!” exclaimed her father, in anger and astonishment, “is this your gratitude to him for saving you from being the wife of a gambler and murderer?  You might well be thankful to him and to a Higher Power, for your happy escape.”