From the freshness of the stains, which grew more frequent as they approached the adjoining chamber, it was evident some violence had been recently perpetrated, and the carpenter's own blood froze within his veins as he thought, with a thrill of horror, that, perhaps on this very spot, not many minutes before his arrival, his adopted son might have been inhumanly butchered. The girl had told him distinctly that her name was Anna. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. If it is that I am in the least French, and that you do not like it—’ ‘I don’t like it,’ snapped the old man. I'll lay my life he's gone.
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