"The officers seem to be duly authorized," said the squire, after a long and minute examination of their papers; "but they should identify the prisoner as the escaped convict for whom they are searching."

"Here's a description," said one of the officers, "in an advertisement: 'Escaped from the Penitentiary, on the ----th instant, William Beigh, _alias_ Bay Billy, _alias_ Handsome; age, twenty-eight; height, five feet ten; complexion dark, hair black, eyes dark brown, mole on left cheek; general appearance handsome, manly, and intelligent. A skillful and dangerous burglar. Sentenced in 1866 to five years'

imprisonment--two years yet to serve.' That," continued the officer, "describes him to a dot; and, if there's any further doubt, look here!"

As he spoke, he unclasped a cloak which the prisoner wore, and disclosed the striped uniform of the prison.

"There seems no reasonable doubt in this case, and the prisoner will have to go back to prison," said the justice. "But I must detain him until I ascertain whether he has stolen anything from Mrs. Wyett's residence. In case he has done so, we can prosecute at the expiration of his term."

The prisoner seemed almost convulsed with rage, though of a sort which one of the officers whispered to the other, he did not exactly understand.

Guzzy eyed him resentfully, and glared at the officers with considerable disfavor.

Guzzy was a law-abiding man, but to have an expected triumph belittled and postponed because of foreign interference was enough to blind almost _any_ man's judicial eyesight.

"Well," said one of the officers, "put him in the lock-up' and investigate in the morning; we won't want to start until then, after the tramp he's given us. Oh, Bay Billy, you're a smart one--no mistake about that. Why in thunder don't you use your smartness in the right way?--there's more money in business than in cracking cribs."

"Besides the moral advantage," added the squire, who was deacon as well, and who, now that he had concluded his official duties, was not adverse to laying down the higher law.

"Just so," exclaimed the officer; "and for his family's sake, too. Why, would you believe it, judge? They say Billy has one of the finest wives in the commonwealth--handsome, well-educated, religious, rich, and of good family. Of course she didn't know what his profession was when she married him."

Again the prisoner seemed convulsed with that strange rage which the officer did not understand. But the officers were tired, and they were too familiar with the disapprobation of prisoners to be seriously affected by it; so, after an appointment by the squire, and a final glare of indignation from little Guzzy, they started, under the constable's guidance, to the lock-up.

Suddenly the door was thrown open, and there appeared, with uncovered head, streaming hair, weeping yet eager eyes, and mud-splashed garments, Helen Wyett.

[Illustration: "WE MAY AS WELL FINISH THIS CASE TO-NIGHT, IF MISS WYETT IS PREPARED TO TESTIFY," SAID THE JUDGE.]

Every one started, the officers stared, the squire looked a degree or two less stupid, and hastened to button his dressing-gown; the restless eyes of the convict fell on Helen's beautiful face, and were restless no longer; while little Guzzy assumed a dignified pose, which did not seem at all consistent with his confused and shamefaced countenance.

"We may as well finish this case to-night, if Miss Wyett is prepared to testify," said the squire, at length. "Have you lost anything, Miss Wyett?"

"No," said Helen; "but I have found my dearest treasure--my own husband!"

And putting her arms around the convict's neck, she kissed him, and then, dropping her head upon his shoulder, she sobbed violently.

The squire was startled into complete wakefulness, and as the moral aspect of the scene presented itself to him, he groaned:

"Onequally yoked with an onbeliever."

The officers looked as if they were depraved yet remorseful convicts themselves, while little Guzzy's diminutive dimensions seemed to contract perceptibly.

At length the convict quieted his wife, and persuaded her to return to her home, with a promise from the officers that she should see him in the morning.

Then the officers escorted the prisoner to the jail, and Guzzy sneaked quietly out, while the squire retired to his slumbers, with the firm conviction that if Solomon had been a justice of the peace at Bowerton, his denial of the newness of anything under the sun would never have been made.

Now, the jail at Bowerton, like everything else in the town, was decidedly antiquated, and consisted simply of a thickly-walled room in a building which contained several offices and living apartments.

It was as extensive a jail as Bowerton needed, and was fully strong enough to hold the few drunken and quarrelsome people who were occasionally lodged in it.

But Beigh, _alias_ Bay Billy, _alias_ Handsome, was no ordinary and vulgar jail-bird, the officers told him, and, that he and they might sleep securely, they considered it advisable to carefully iron his hands.

A couple of hours rolled away, and left Beigh still sitting moody and silent on the single bedstead in the Bowerton jail.

Suddenly the train of his thoughts was interrupted by a low "stt--stt"

from the one little, high, grated window of the jail.

The prisoner looked up quickly, and saw the shadow of a man's head outside the grating.

"Hello!" whispered Beigh, hurrying under the window.

"Are you alone?" inquired the shadow.

"Yes," replied the prisoner.

"All right, then," whispered the voice. "There _are_ secrets which no vulgar ears should hear. My name is Guzzy. I have been in love with your wife. I hadn't any idea she was married; but I've brought you my apology."

"I'll forgive you," whispered the criminal; "but--"

"'Tain't that kind of apology," whispered Guzzy. "It's a steel one--a tool--one of those things that gunsmiths shorten gun-barrels with. If they can saw a rifle-barrel in two in five minutes, you ought to get out of here inside of an hour."

"Not quite," whispered Beigh. "My hands and feet are ironed."

"Then I'll do the job myself," whispered Guzzy, as he applied the tool to one of the bars; "for it will be daylight within two hours."

The unaccustomed labor--for Guzzy was a bookkeeper--made his arms ache severely, but still he sawed away.

He wondered what his employer would say should he be found out, but still he sawed.

Visions of the uplifted hands and horror-struck countenances of his brother Church-members came before his eyes, and the effect of his example upon his Sunday-school class, should he be discovered, tormented his soul; but neither of these influences affected his saw.

Bar after bar disappeared, and when Guzzy finally stopped to rest, Beigh saw a small square of black sky, unobstructed by any bars whatever.

"Now," whispered Guzzy, "I'll drop in a small box you can stand on, so you can put your hands out and let me file off your irons. I brought a file or two, thinking they might come handy."

Five minutes later the convict, his hands unbound, crawled through the window, and was helped to the ground by Guzzy.

[Illustration]

Seizing the file from the little bookkeeper, Beigh commenced freeing his feet. Suddenly he stopped and whispered:

"You'd better go now. I can take care of myself, but if those cursed officers should take a notion to look around, it would go hard with _you_. Run, God bless you, run!"

But little Guzzy straightened himself and folded his arms.

The convict rasped away rapidly, and finally dropped the file and the fragments of the last fetter. Then he seized little Guzzy's hand.

"My friend," said he, "criminal though I am, I am man enough to appreciate your manliness and honor. I think I am smart enough to keep myself free, now I am out of jail. But, if ever you want a friend, tell Helen, _she_ will know where I am, and I will serve you, no matter what the risk and pain."

"Thank you," said Guzzy; "but the only favor I'll ever ask of you might as well be named now, and you ought to be able to do it without risk or pain either. It's only this; be an honest man, for Helen's sake."