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" "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. "Oh! no—no—no," cried Winifred, "I cannot believe it. The brain tires of resistance, and when it meets again and again, incoherently active, the same phrases, the same ideas that it has already slain, exposed and dissected and buried, it becomes less and less energetic to repeat the operation. "Good-bye, Mac. She dare not risk it. Robbed of their prey, the fury of the mob became ungovernable.
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