This was enough.  The passions of the crowd were at fever heat again.  Two or three men were chosen to search the house and premises, while others dispersed to take a wider range.  One of the men who volunteered to go over the house was a person named Lyon, with whom I had formed some acquaintance, and several times conversed with on the state of affairs in Cedarville.  He still remained too good a customer at the bar.  I left the bar at the same time that he did, and went up to my room.  We walked side by side, and parted at my door, I going in, and he continuing on to make his searches.  I felt, of course, anxious and much excited, as well in consequence of the events of the day, as the present aspect of things.  My head was aching violently, and in the hope of getting relief, I laid myself down.  I had already lighted a candle, and turned the key in my door to prevent intrusion.  Only for a short time did I lie, listening to the hum of voices that came with a hoarse murmur from below, to the sound of feet moving along the passages, and to the continual opening and shutting of doors, when something like suppressed breathing reached my ears, I started up instantly, and listened; but my quickened pulses were now audible to my own sense, and obscured what was external.

“It is only imagination,” I said to myself.  Still, I sat upright, listening.

Satisfied, at length, that all was mere fancy, I laid myself back on the pillow, and tried to turn my thoughts away from the suggested idea that some one was in the room.  Scarcely had I succeeded in this, when my heart gave a new impulse, as a sound like a movement fell upon my ears.

“Mere fancy!” I said to myself, as some one went past the door at the moment.  “My mind is overexcited.”

Still I raised my head, supporting it with my hand, and listened, directing my attention inside, and not outside of the room.  I was about letting my head fall back upon the pillow, when a slight cough, so distinct as not to be mistaken, caused me to spring to the floor, and look under the bed.  The mystery was explained.  A pair of eyes glittered in the candlelight.  The fugitive, Green, was under my bed.  For some moments I stood looking at him, so astonished that I had neither utterance nor decision; while he glared at me with a fierce defiance.  I saw that he was clutching a revolver.

“Understand!” he said, in a grating whisper, “that I am not to be taken alive.”

I let the blanket, which had concealed him from view, fall from my hand, and then tried to collect my thoughts.

“Escape is impossible,” said I, again lifting the temporary curtain by which he was hid.  “The whole town is armed, and on the search; and should you fall into the hands of the mob, in its present state of exasperation, your life would not be safe an instant.  Remain, then, quiet, where you are, until I can see the sheriff, to whom you had better resign yourself, for there’s little chance for you except under his protection.”