“I will now leave you to make such arrangements between yourselves as may be necessary for the work before you.  Leave nothing incomplete, and be punctual to the very minute in every instance.”

With this parting injunction, Duffel left his villainous companions, who began at once to prepare themselves for the dastardly business their superior had allotted to them in his schemes of rascality and black-hearted crime.  This was Monday, in the afternoon, and consequently, but three days until Hadley was to be waylaid and slain, and immediately afterward somebody’s horses stolen and run off, the crime of stealing which was to be laid upon the murdered man.  This was a plot worthy of the wretch who conceived it, and, with the aid of villains as unscrupulous as himself, was about to be put in execution.

From the moment the command of the “Order of the League of Independents” (it ought have been named the Order of the League of Murderers and Horse-Thieves) was vested in him, during the captain’s absence, he had resolved to make the most of his time and authority to bring all his plans to a crisis and an issue.  Hadley was to be disposed of; Mandeville was to be blinded, his daughter, through him, forced to wed the rascal, or, failing in this, she was to be forced into measures, by fair means or foul, of which hereafter.

* * * * *

Friday morning was ushered in amid clouds and storm.  The heavens were shrouded in a pall of darkness and the rain came down in torrents.  Mr. Mandeville had spent most of the night with his daughter, and did not retire until some hours past midnight.  Having been deprived of so much rest, during the previous two weeks and more, his slumbers were unusually heavy, and it was a late hour in the morning when he awoke, and the dismal weather adding to his drowsiness, he continued to lay and rest after consciousness had returned.  His half-waking, half-dreaming meditations were broken in upon by a gentle tap at his bed-room door.  In a moment he was wide awake, care for his child having quickened his senses, and demanded if Eveline was any worse.

“No, sir,” was the reply, “it is only Mr. Duffel, who has called and inquired for you.”

“Tell him I will be down in a few minutes.”

Wondering what could bring his visitor at such an early hour, Mr. Mandeville hastily dressed and went into the parlor, where he met and was saluted by Duffel in the most cordial manner.

“I reached home at a late hour last night,” said the hypocrite, “and felt so great an anxiety to hear from you and your daughter, I could not wait for the storm to abate, but hastened at this unseasonable hour to inquire after her welfare and yours.  I hope I have not intruded so far but that you will pardon my unfashionable call and seeming impatience.  How is Eveline?”

“You are always welcome, come at what hour you may.  I can hardly answer your last question; I think Eveline is better in some respects, but she is greatly reduced, and when the fever leaves, will, doubtless, be very weak.—­I both hope and fear for her.  The fever will run its course, and if she has constitution enough to outlive it and recuperate, she will recover; otherwise the result will be fatal.”