"My God!" cried Robert.

It was the Sepoy!

"Hands up!" commanded a voice which the young man recognized as that of Gratz; "hands up, or you are a dead man. There are five bullets in reserve for you if you budge from where you stand."

With an imprecation that was charged with malignant venom, the Sepoy looked upon the gleaming barrel of a pistol which was advancing into the light, recognized his helplessness, and with snarling obedience elevated his arms in the air.

"Robert!" called Gratz.

The young man, trembling, hurried to the opening.

"Get behind me," directed Gratz; "put your hand in my coat pocket; you'll find a pair of bracelets there for our friend here."

With shaking hands Robert followed these sharply delivered instructions, and withdrew a set of handcuffs, gaping at the fastenings to receive a pair of guilty wrists.

"Now move around to the rear of this gentleman," continued the relentless Gratz, "and snap them on his wrists."

Somehow Robert managed to obey these commands.

He reached to the uplifted hands of the Sepoy, embraced his wrists with the handcuffs, and closed them with a snap.

(To be continued on Bosom No. 2, Series C.)

Unknown to himself, Dennis, stimulated by the lively succession of incidents, had spurred his enunciation in a racy adjustment to these animated conditions.

His eyes appeared to have appropriated the sparkle which had intensified the glance of the Sepoy of whom he had just read, and when he arrived at the familiar legend at the bottom of the bosom, his expression, vivid with all these communicated emotions, was duplicated in the sweet, absorbed face of his bewitching listener, who, in order the better to follow his rapid utterance, leaned, with the exquisite intoxication of her presence, in rapt nearness to the reader.

Consequently, when Dennis looked up from his reading, he was transported along the highway of a sympathetic glance into deeps of dazzling blue.

For a moment he abandoned himself to the enchanting witchery with the dreamful enjoyment of the voluptuary inhaling the odors of a scented bath.

He seemed to be on the best of terms with some well-disposed harlequin.

Scarcely had the excitement of one series of events developed to its climax when he was whisked to another.

His providence was working overtime in his behalf, and being at heart sound and genuine, the weight of his obligations to all these auspices warned him not to be too prodigal with his privileges; so, with an effort, the stress of which communicated some of its rigors to his countenance, he closed his eyes for one ascetic moment and came bravely to earth again.

Suspecting something of the nature of his confusion, as a lovely woman will, and secretly applauding his undemonstrative deference, which, in the cynical atmosphere to which she was habituated, came to her like a refreshing zephyr, the widow asked him with an engaging smile of encouragement:

"Of what were you thinking, Mr. Muldoon?"

"Mr. Muldoon!" he repeated to himself with an endeavor to reflect the intonation of personal distinction which issued so entrancingly from the Cupid's bow of a mouth. He had not been so ceremoniously addressed since he knew not when, and never realized that his homely name had such music in it. "Oh!" he thought, "if she would only say 'Dennis,' it would be like grand opera."

"Why," replied Dennis with simple frankness. "I was thinking, for one thing--for one thing"--but encouraged by her smiling invitation he stammered--"how beautiful you are!" and added to himself, or it looked as though he might express his sentiments that way: "There, you've done it!"

"Ah!" exclaimed his companion, with a rosy enjoyment of this unstudied situation and frank appreciation, "and what was the other?"

"I don't know how to tell you the other," answered Dennis. Then with an unreflective inspiration: "Did you ever read about Launcelot and Guinevere?"

"Ye-yes," was the apprehensive answer.

"Well," continued Dennis with a nave remembrance only of the chivalry of this idyllic indiscretion, "when I look at you I can understand how a knight could battle for a queen."

There was silence for a moment, but in the interval the lady did not laugh, though her eyes were bright as she said:

"You are a strange boy."

"Oh!" cried Dennis, "tell me, have I offended? I would not do that for the world."

"I am sure of that," replied the widow, "and I believe that you mean what you say."

"Oh, I do, I do!" exclaimed Dennis impulsively; then, with a realization of the thin surface over which he was making such rapid strides despite the danger signals of conventionality, and with a diplomacy born of his native good sense, he glided, with cheerful Celtic sagacity, to safer footing by asking abruptly: "May I recommend myself"--as if he had not already done so--"for the position you offer?"

"Ah!" exclaimed the widow, from whom no alternation of his mobile countenance seemed to escape, "it is your turn now; I must not receive all the honors."

"Well," replied Dennis, altogether aware of the graceful courtesy of this exquisite woman, and constituted by nature, if not by past association, to accord it due appreciation, "well, there isn't much to say, but here's my outfit:

"I am sorry to have to begin badly. I don't know anything about flowers.

I can't tell you, even, the difference between a shamrock and a clover."

"All that can be easily remedied," his listener reassured him; "but proceed."

"But there's one thing I'm sure about," continued Dennis. "You can rely upon me, an' that's better."

"It is, indeed," answered the widow.

"I am anxious to do the best I can for myself," resumed Dennis. "I have just one way of doing it, and that is to do the best I can for others."

"That is real business principle," exclaimed his companion, "and very rare. What else?"

"I guess that's about all," answered Dennis, "an' it don't sound so very much, does it?"

"More than you think," answered the widow. "Now listen to me:

"I need such service as I hope from you very much. Would you like to come and help me here?"

"Oh!" cried Dennis.

"I am answered," responded his companion, "When can you come?"

"At once!" cried Dennis--"or no, wait a bit; that wouldn't be fair to my present employer. But I can tell him to look out for somebody else right away; surely he can fill my place within a week. Suppose I say next Monday?"

"Very well, that will suit," answered the widow; "but you have not asked me what your salary will be."

Dennis blushed, and his blush was appreciated. To enjoy the genial inspiration of such an association would be a perquisite which, other things being only approximately even, would repair any possible shortage.

"Will twenty dollars a week and your board satisfy you for the present?"