Per contra, Jael Dence distinctly swore there was an arrow, with two white feathers and one black one, and that the prisoner was shooting at Mr. Little.  She also swore that she had seen him colloguing with another man, who had been concerned in a former attempt on Mr. Little, and captured, but had escaped from Raby Hall.

On this the magistrate declined to discharge the prisoner; but, as no arrow could be found at present, admitted him to bail, two securities fifty pounds each, which was an indirect way of imprisoning him until the Assizes.

This attempt, though unsuccessful in one way, was very effective in another.  It shook Henry Little terribly; and the effect was enhanced by an anonymous letter he received, reminding him there were plenty of noiseless weapons.  Brinsley had been shot twice, and no sound heard.  “When your time comes, you’ll never know what hurt you.”  The sense of a noiseless assassin eternally dogging him preyed on Little’s mind and spirits, and at last this life on the brink of the grave became so intolerable that he resolved to leave Hillsborough, but not alone.

He called on Grace Carden, pale and agitated.

“Grace,” said he, “do you really love me?”

“Oh, Henry!  Do I love you?”

“Then save me from this horrible existence.  Oh, my love, if you knew what it is to have been a brave man, and to find your courage all oozing away under freezing threats, that you know, by experience, will be followed by some dark, subtle, bloody deed or other.  There, they have brought me down to this, that I never go ten steps without looking behind me, and, when I go round a corner, I turn short and run back, and wait at the corner to see if an assassin is following me.  I tremble at the wind.  I start at my own shadow.”

Grace threw her arms round his neck, and stopped him with tears and kisses.

“Ah, bless you, my love!” he cried, and kissed her fondly.  “You pity me—­you will save me from this miserable, degrading life?”

“Ah, that I will, if I can, my own.”

“You can.”

“Then tell me how.”

“Be my wife—­let us go to the United States together.  Dearest, my patents are a great success.  We are making our fortune, though we risk our lives.  In America I could sell these inventions for a large sum, or work them myself at an enormous profit.  Be my wife, and let us fly this hellish place together.”

“And so I would in a moment; but” (with a deep sigh) “papa would never consent to that.”

“Dispense with his consent.”

“Oh, Henry; and marry under my father’s curse!”

“He could not curse you, if he love you half as well as I do; and if he does not, why sacrifice me, and perhaps my life, to him?”

“Henry, for pity’s sake, think of some other way.  Why this violent haste to get rich?  Have a little patience.  Mr. Raby will not always be abroad.  Oh, pray give up Mr. Bolt, and go quietly on at peace with these dreadful Trades.  You know I’ll wait all my life for you.  I will implore papa to let you visit me oftener.  I will do all a faithful, loving girl can do to comfort you.”