“It is not safe to remain here.”  I said this to myself, with the emphasis of a strong internal conviction.

Against this, my mind opposed a few feeble arguments; but the more I thought of the matter, the more clearly did I become satisfied, that to attempt to pass the night in that room was to me a risk it was not prudent to assume.

So I went in search of Mrs. Slade, to ask her to have another room prepared for me.  But she was not in the house; and I learned, upon inquiry, that since the murder of young Hammond, she had been suffering from repeated hysterical and fainting fits, and was now, with her daughter, at the house of a relative, whither she had been carried early in the afternoon.

It was on my lip to request the chambermaid to give me another room; but this I felt to be scarcely prudent, for if the popular indignation should happen to turn toward me, the servant would be the one questioned, most likely, as to where I had removed my quarters.

“It isn’t safe to stay in the house,” said I, speaking to myself.  “Two, perhaps three, murders have been committed already.  The tiger’s thirst for blood has been stimulated, and who can tell how quickly he may spring again, or in what direction?”

Even while I said this, there came up from the bar-room louder and madder shouts.  Then blows were heard, mingled with cries and oaths.  A shuddering sense of danger oppressed me, and I went hastily down-stairs, and out into the street.  As I gained the passage, I looked into the sitting-room, where the body of Green was laid out.  Just then, the bar-room door was burst open by a fighting party, who had been thrown, in their fierce contention, against it.  I paused only for a moment or two; and even in that brief period of time, saw blows exchanged over the dead body of the gambler!

“This is no place for me,” I said, almost aloud, and hurried from the house, and took my way to the residence of a gentleman who had shown me many kind nesses during my visits at Cedarville.  There was needed scarcely a word of representation on my part, to secure the cordial tender of a bed.

What a change!  It seemed almost like a passage from Pandemonium to a heavenly region, as I seated myself alone in the quiet chamber a cheerful hospitality had assigned me, and mused on the exciting and terrible incidents of the day.  They that sow the wind shall reap the whirlwind.  How marked had been the realization of this prophecy, couched in such strong but beautiful imagery!

On the next day I was to leave Cedarville.  Early in the morning I repaired to the “Sickle and Sheaf.”  The storm was over, and all was calm and silent as desolation.  Hours before, the tempest had subsided; but the evidences left behind of its ravaging fury were fearful to look upon.  Doors, chairs, windows, and table’s were broken, and even the strong brass rod that ornamented the bar had been partially wrenched from its fastenings by strong hands, under an impulse of murder, that only lacked a weapon to execute its fiendish purpose.  Stains of blood, in drops, marks, and even dried-up pools, were to be seen all over the bar-room and passage floors, and in many places on the porch.