revolver, held still in the man's own hand, was at his heart. The motion ceased, the point was reached.

By the swiftest of movements Rudolf shifted his grasp from Rupert's wrist and pounced on his hand. Now his forefinger rested on Rupert's and Rupert's was on the trigger. There was a sudden tightening in the pressure of that crooked forefinger, a flash, a noise. He was held up against the wall for an instant by Rudolf's hand; when that was removed he sank, a heap that looked all head and knees.

Rudolf put out the hand with which he had just killed Rupert of Hentzau, and took the letter from the mantelpiece. He glanced at the envelope, then he opened the letter. The handwriting banished any last doubt he had; he tore the letter across, and again in four pieces, and yet again in smaller fragments. Then he sprinkled the morsels of paper into the blaze of the fire and watched till they curled and crinkled into black, wafery ashes. Thus, at last, the queen's letter was safe.

The Heart of Old Hickory.

WILL ALLEN DROMGOOLE. Abridged by permission of The Arena Publishing Co.

THERE was an air of desolation about the grim old State House. The last loitering feet came down the damp corridors. The Governor wondered why it was that women would work beyond their time. He had heard the librarian pass that door at dusk, day in, day out, for two years. This evening she stopped.

“I only stopped to say a word for the little hunchback's mother," she said. “She is not a bad woman, and her provocation was great. Moreover, she is a woman.”

He sighed, and took up the long roll of paper lying upon his desk. It was an old story ; yet it read well. Five hundred names were signed to it; and yet, thrice five hundred tongues would lash him if he set his own name there. Those old threadbare stories had well-nigh wrought his political ruin. At least the papers said as much; they had sneeringly nicknamed him “ Tenderheart," and compared him, with a sneer, too, to that old sterling hero-the Governor's eyes sought the east window, where the statue of Andrew Jackson loomed like a bronze giant amid the snowflakes and the gathering twilight. They had compared them, the old hero who lived in bronze, and the young human-heart who had no“ backbone,” and was moved by a rogue's cry.

“ Papers! Papers! Wanter paper, mister?” A thin little face peered in at the door. “ Yes,” said the Executive, “ I want a Banner.”

" Don't sell that sort, mister,” said he. “ It's -low-lived."

“What? You don't sell the Evening Banner, the only independent journal in the city ?”

“That's about the size on't."

“And so," said he, "you refuse to sell the Banner. Why is that?”

“Sckucks!” was the reply. “'Tain't no good. None o' us likes it. Yer see, cully— ” The Executive started ; but a glance at the earnest, unconscious face convinced him the familiarity was not intentional disrespect. “Yer see," the boy went on, “it sez mean things, tells lies, yer know, about a friend o’mine."

“ And so the Banner abuses your friend ? And what does it say of him?"

"Aw, sher! It called him a'mugwump.' An' it said ez ther' wa’n't no backbone to him, an' ez he wuz only fitten to set pris'ners loose. An' it said a lot about a feller named Ole Poplar— ".

“ What!”

“Poplar? Ben't it poplar? Naw, cedar,--ash, wonnut, hick'ry—that's it! Hick’ry. Ole Hick'ry. It said a lot about him; an' it made the

boys orful mad, an' they won't sell the nasty paper.".

“Who is your friend ?”

“Aw, he ain't my friend perzactly. He's Skinny's though, an' all the boys stan's up for Skinny."

“And who is ‘Skinny'?"

“ He wuz a newsboy-till yistiddy. We buried uv him yistiddy.”

" And this man whom the Banner abuses was Skinny's friend."

“Yes. This here was Skinny's route. I took it yistiddy. Yer see Skinny didn't have no mammy an' no folks, an' no meat onter his bones, —that's why we all named him Skinny." *Tell me about this friend of Skinny's." “The Gov'ner?” “Was it the Governor?”

“Say! is ther' anybody else can pardon out convicts? In course 'twus the Gov'ner. Skinny had a picture uv him, too. A great big un, an' golly! but 'twus pritty. Say, cully, does you know the Gov'ner?”

“Yes ; but go on with your story. Tell me all about Skinny and-his friend ! ”

"Me an' him wuz on the pris'n route. Skinny tuk this route last year. He begged it fur me when hecome ter quit, because I ben't ez strong ez-Solermun, you know. But 'twuz when we wuz ter the pris'n route I larnt about

Skinny's friend, the Gov'ner, you know. First ther' was ole Jack Nasby up an' got parelized, an' w'an't no 'count ter nobody, let ’lone ter the State. “A dead expense,' the ward'n said. He suffered orful, too, an' so 'd his wife. An' one day Skinny said he wuz goin' ter write a perti. tion an' git all the 'fishuls ter sign it, an' git the Gov'ner ter pard'n ole Nasby out. They all signed it- An' one day, don't yer think when ole Nasby wuz layin' on the hospittul bunk with his dead side kivered over with a pris'n blankit, an' his wife a-cryin' becase the ward'n war 'bleeged ter lock her out, the Gov'ner his se'f walked in. An' what yer reckin he done? Cried! What yer think o' that, cully? Cried; an' then he called the man's wife back, an' p'inted ter the half-dead ole convic', an' told her ter ' fetch him home.' Did! An' the nex' day if the Banner didn't tan him! Yer jest bet it did.

“An' ther' wuz a feller ther' been in twenty year, an' had seventy-nine more ahead uv him. An' one night when ther' w'an't nobody thinkin' uv it, he up an' got erligion. An' he ain't no more en got it, en he wants ter git away fum ther'. Prayed fur it constant: “Lord, let me out!' 'Lord, let me out!' That's what he ud say ez he set on the spoke pile fittin' spokes fur the Tennessee wagins; an'a-cryin' all the time. The other pris'ners poked fun at him ; an' tol' him if he got out they ud try erligion in theirn. Y'orter seen