"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. " "Not unless your skull's bullet-proof," cried a voice at his elbow; and, as the words were uttered, a pistol was snapped at his head, which,—fortunately or unfortunately, as the reader pleases,—only burnt the priming. The veins in his throat and forehead swelled and blackened; his eyes protruded from their sockets, and stared wildly; a thick damp gathered on his brow: and blood gushed from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. The shot had taken effect upon the waterman who rowed the chase. She flew to the door, but returned the next minute, looking deeply disappointed, and bringing the intelligence that it was "only Mrs.
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