SHOTS IN THE DARKNESS--DONALD IS CAPTURED.
It was about eight o'clock on Sunday evening. McMahon and Leroyer hadwatched all through Saturday night and all through Sunday close to thehouse, hidden from view in the bush. They were wetted through with thesnow; they were cold and hungry.
In the gathering darkness two men passed them, knocked at the cottagedoor and entered.
"Did you see who they were?" McMahon asked.
"No," said his companion. "But see! they have lit the lamp; I'll creepforward and look through."
The scout crept towards the window on his hands and knees. He was aslithe and stealthy as a panther. He raised his head and looked in."My God, it's Morrison," he said to himself, as he crept back to hiscompanion.
"It's Morrison," he said in an eager whisper. "I saw him sitting on achair, talking to his mother. We have him when he comes out. How'll wetake him?"
"We must call upon him to surrender, and if he refuses we must fire soas to lame, but not to hurt him."
At the moment that the glowing eyes of the scout looked in through thewindow, Donald was sitting on a chair in the middle of the floor talkingto his mother, who was filling a bottle of milk for him.
"I'm to meet M---- in the morning in the woods, and then I'm going tosurrender. The police by this time know my intention."
"You have acted wisely, Donald," his mother said. "We will all see thatyou get a fair trial. My poor hunted boy, what have you suffered duringthe past twelve months. Anything would be better than this. You areliable to be caught at any moment--perhaps shot."
"Have no fear, mother, on that score. I hope I am acting for the best ingiving myself up."
"I'm sure you are, Donald. Here's your bottle of milk and your blanket."
"I don't know what may happen before we meet again, mother. Good-bye,"and he bent down and kissed her withered face.
He opened the door, and went out into the darkness. "Throw up yourhands," a ringing voice exclaimed.
"My God, I'm betrayed at last," Donald muttered, as he leaped the fenceclose to the house, and made a straight line for the woods.
McMahon and the scout leaped from their concealment, followed hard uponthe fugitive, and fired repeatedly at him from their revolvers.
Could he escape?
He had fronted worse perils than this. Would fortune still smile uponhim, or, deserting him in the moment of supreme need, leave him todestiny? The darkness favored him. The dense woods were near. Would hebe able to reach them in safety?
McMahon and Leroyer, by simply going up to the door, and grasping theoutlaw firmly the moment he came out, might have made the capture in aperfectly certain though commonplace manner. Both might be forgiven,however, for a little nervousness and excitement. The prize was withintheir grasp. For this moment they had lain out in the snow, wet andhungry. Brought suddenly face to face with the moment, the moment was alittle too big for them. Neither of the pursuers aimed very steadily.They grasped their revolvers, and made red punctures in the night.
What was that? A cry of pain.
The pursuers came up, and saw a figure totter and fall at their feet.
"You have caught me at last," Donald said; "but had the truce been kept,you never could have taken me."
The outlaw was wrapped in blankets and conveyed to Sherbrooke prison,and the following morning the papers announced all over the Dominionthat "Donald Morrison, the famous outlaw, who had defied every effort ofthe Government for twelve months, had been captured, after having beenseverely wounded in the hip by a revolver shot."
In the jail Donald said--"I was taken by treachery."
But the outlaw had been secured!
CONCLUSION.
It was dreadfully unromantic, but Minnie did not fall into a decline.She is alive and well at this moment. Life may be over, and yet we maylive functionally through long stagnant years. Life is not a calendarof dates, but of feelings. Minnie will live a calm, chastened life. Shecannot love again; but she is not soured by her experience. She will beone of those rare old maids who are so sweet and wholesome that evenyouth, hot and impatient, tenders cordial homage to them.
Minnie braves her sorrow bravely. To look at her one would not suspectthat she had ever passed through deep suffering. Disappointment andloss either curl the lips in bitter cynicism, or give them so soft, sogracious, so touching an expression, as make their caress, falling uponthe wretched and forsaken, a benediction. When suffering steels theheart, and poises the nature in an attitude of silent scorn for theworst affront of fortune, it is fatal. It takes the life simply. That isall. When it melts the heart, pity finds a soft place, and the ministryof sorrow becomes, not a phrase, but an experience. Very few knowMinnie's secret. Her parents never mention the name of Donald Morrison.She quietly goes about her modest duties, and the few poor old people inthe village left desolate in their old age, when the shadows lengthen,and, the gloom of the long night is gathering, find that she has
"A tear for pity,
And a hand open as day for melting charity."
THE END.
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