once again at the station, I had examined the
engine; given instructions to the Fochista or
stoker, about the fire; seen to the supply of oil;
and got all in readiness, when, just as I was
about to compare my walch with the clock in
the ticket office, a hand was laid upon my arm,
and a voice in my ear said:

" Are you the engine-driver who is going on
with this special train?''

I have never seen the speaker before. He
was a small, dark, man muffled up about the
throat, with blue glasses, a black beard,
and his hat drawn low upon his eyes.

"You are a poor man, I suppose," he said
in a quick, eager whisper, "and, like other poor
men, would not object to be better off. Would
you like to earn a couple of thousand  florins?"

"In what way ':''

"Hush! You are to stop at Padua, are you
not, and to go on again at Ponte di Brenta?"

I nodded.

" Suppose you did nothing of the kind.
Suppose, instead of turning off the steam, you
jump off the engine, and let the train run on?"

"Impossible. There are seventy yards of
embankment gone, and——

Basta! I know that. Save yourself, and
let the train run on. It would be nothing but
an accident.

I turned hot and cold; I trembled; my heart
beat fast, and my breath failed.

"Why do you tempt me?" I faltered.

"For Italy's sake," he whispered

I thrust his hand back fiercely.

"No—- no," I said. " No blood-money. If
I do it, I do it neither for Italy nor for money;
but for vengeance."

"For vengeance!" he repeated.

At that moment the signal was given for
backing up to the platform. I sprang to my
place upon the engine without another word.
When I again looked towards the spot where he
had been standing, the stranger was gone.

I saw them take their places—- Duke and
Duchess, secretary and priest, valet and maid.
I saw the station-master bow them into the
carriage, and stand, bareheaded, beside the door.
I could not distinguish their faces; the platform
was too dusk, and the glare from the engine fire
too strong; but I recognised her stately figure,
and the poise of her head. Had I not been
told who she was, I should have known her by
those traits alone. Then the guard's whistle
shrilled out, and the station-master made his last
bow; I turned the steam on; and we started.

My blood was on fire. I no longer trembled
or hesitated. I felt every nerve was iron.
and every pulse instinct with deadly purpose.
She was in my power and I would be revenged.
She should die—- she, for whom I stained
my soul with my friend's blood! She should die,
in the plentitude of her wealthand her beauty,
and no power upon earth would save her!

Tlie stations flew past. I put on more steam;
I bade the fireman heap in the coke, and stir
the blazing mass. I would have outstripped
the wind, had it been possible. Faster and faster
—- hedges and trees, bridges and stations, flashing
past—- villages no sooner seen than gone—-
telegraph wires twisting, and dipping, and
twining themselves in one, with the awful swiftness
of our pace! Faster and faster, till the fireman
at my side looks white and scared, and
refuses to add more fuel to the furnace. Faster
and faster, till the wind rushes in our faces and
drives the breath back upon our lips

I would have, scorned to save myself. I
meant to die with the rest. Mad as I was—-
and I believe from my very soul that I was
utterly mad for the time—- I felt a passing pang
of pity for the old man and his suite. I would
have spared the poor fellow at my side, too, if
I could; but the pace at which we were going
made escape impossible.

Vicenza was passed—- a mere confused vision
of lights. Pojana flew by. At Padua but
nine miles distant, our passengers were to
alight. I saw the fireman's face turned upon
me in remonstrance; I saw his lips move,
though I could not hear a word; I saw his
expression change suddenly from remonstrance to
a deadly terror and then—- merciful Heaven!
then, for the first time, I saw that he and I
were no longer alone upon the the engine.

There was a third man—- a third man standing
on my right hand, as the fireman was standing
on my left—- a tall, stalwart  man, with short
curling hair, and a flat Scotch cap upon his head.
As I fell back in the first shock of surprise, he
stepped nearer; took my place at the engine
and turned the steam off. I opened my lips to
speak to him; he turned his head slowly, and
looked me in the face.

Matthew Price!

I uttered one long wild cry, flung my arms
wildly up above my head, and fell as if I had
been smitten with an axe.

I am prepared for the objections that may be
made to my story. I expect, as a matter of
course, to  be told that this was an optical
illusion, or that I was suffering from pressure
on the brain, or even that I laboured under an
attack of temporary insanity. I have heard all
these arguments before, and, if I may be
forgiven for saying so, I have no desire to hear
them again. My own mind has been made up
upon this subject for many a year. All that I
can say—- all that I know is—- that Matthew Price
came back from the dead to save my soul and
the lives of those whom I, in my guilty rage,
would have hurried to destruction. I believe
this as I believe in the mercy of Heaven and
the forgiveness of repentant sinners.

THE END OF THE CHRISTMAS NUMBER, FOR 1866.