He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. The militia were in already. He was there concealed, waiting her return. He was therefore obliged to use the iron bar, which he did with as much caution as circumstances would permit.
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