“My darling child, you may now summon strength and courage; that man, that bad man, will never come under this roof again.  I have finally settled the point, and you have nothing further now, nor anything worse, to dread from him.  I have given the villain his nunc dimittis once and forever, and you will never see him more.”

“But I fear, papa,” she replied, feebly, “that, as I said before, it is now too late.  I feel that he has killed me.  I know not how I will pass this night.  I dread the hours of sleep above all conditions of my unhappy existence.  O, no wonder that the entrance of that man-demon to our house should be heralded by the storms and hurricanes of heaven, and that the terrible fury of the elements, as indicative of the Almighty’s anger, should mark his introduction to our family.  Then the prodigy which took place when the bonfires were lighted to welcome his accursed return—­the shower of blood!  O, may God support me, and, above all things, banish him from my dreams!  Still, I feel some relief by the knowledge that he is not to come here again.  Yes, I feel that it relieves me; but, alas!  I fear that even the consciousness of that cannot prevent the awful impression that I think I am near death.”

“No, darling,” replied her mother, “don’t allow that thought to gain upon you.  We’ll get a fairy-man or a fairy-woman, because they know the best remedies against everything of that kind, when a common leech or chirurgeon can do nothing.”

“No,” replied her father, “I will allow nothing of the kind under this roof.  It’s not a safe thing to have dealings with such people.  We know that the Church forbids it.  Perhaps it’s a witch we might stumble on; and would it not be a frightful thing to see one of those who are leagued with the devil bringing their unconsecrated breaths about us this week, as it were, and, perhaps, burned the next?  No, we will have a regular physician, who has his own character, as such, to look to and support by his honesty and skill, but none of those withered classes of hell that are a curse to the country.”

“Very well,” replied Mrs. Goodwin, “have your own way in it.  I dare say you are right.”

“O, don’t bring any fairy-women or fairy-men about me,” said Alice.  “The very sight of them would take away the little life I have left.”

In the meantime Harry Woodward, who had a variety of plans and projects to elaborate, found himself, as every villain of his kind generally does, encompassed by doubt and apprehension of their failure.  The reader will understand the condition of his heart and feelings when he advances further in this narrative.  Old Lindsay, who was of a manly and generous disposition, felt considerable surprise that all intimacy should have been discontinued between his son Charles and Alice Goodwin.  As for the property which she now possessed, he never once thought of it in connection with their former affection for each other.  He