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 again, till I see whether Mr. Higginbotham is hanging on the St. Michæl's pear-tree!'

He leaped from the cart, gave the rein a turn round the gate-post, and ran along the green path of the wood-lot, as if Old Nick were chasing behind. Just then the village clock tolled eight, and as each deep stroke fell, Dominicus gave a fresh bound and flew faster than before, till, dim in the solitary centre of the orchard, he saw the fated pear-tree. One great branch stretched from the old contorted trunk across the path, and threw the darkest shadow on that one spot. But something seemed to struggle beneath the branch!

The pedler had never pretended to more courage than befits a man of peaceable occupation, nor could he account for his valor on this awful emergency. Certain it is, however, that he rushed forward, prostrated a sturdy Irishman with the but-end of his whip, and found not indeed hanging on the St. Michæl's pear-tree, but trembling beneath it, with a halter round his neck—the old identical Mr. Higginbotham!

'Mr. Higginbotham,' said Dominicus tremulously, 'you're an honest man, and I'll take your word for it. Have you been hanged, or not?'

If the riddle be not already guessed, a few words will explain the simple machinery, by which this 'coming event' was made to 'cast its shadow before.' Three men had plotted the robbery and murder of Mr.