Execution of Indian Murderers

JANUARY 17, 1863.]

HARPER'S WEEKLY.

37

EXECUTION OF THIRTY-EIGHT INDIAN MURDERERS AT MANKATO, MINNESOTA.—FROM A SKETCH BY MR. HERMAN, OF ST. PAUL.—[SEE PAGE 39.]

[Entered according to Act of Congress, in the Year 1862, by Harper & Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York.]

NO NAME.

BY WILKIE COLLINS,

AUTHOR OF "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," "DEAD SECRET,"
ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY JOHN M'LENAN.

Printed from the Manuscript and early Proof-sheets purchased by the Proprietors of "Harper's Weekly."

CHAPTER I.—(Continued.)

"Is there any one in the front room?" said Kirke, in a whisper. "Come in there; I have something to say to you."

The woman followed him through the door of communication between the rooms.

"How much does she owe you?" he asked. The landlady mentioned the sum. Kirke put it down before her on the table.

"Where is your husband?" was his next question.

"Waiting at the public-house, Sir, till the hour is up."

"You can take him the money or not, as you think right," said Kirke, quietly. "I have only one thing to tell you, so far as your husband is concerned. If you want to see every bone in his skin broken let him come to the house while I am in it. Stop! I have something more to say. Do you know of any doctor in the neighborhood who can be depended on?"

"Not in our neighborhood, Sir. But I know of one within half an hour's walk of us?"

"Take the cab at the door, and if you find him at home bring him back in it. Say I am waiting here for his opinion on a very serious case. He shall be well paid, and you shall be well paid. Make haste!"

The woman left the room.

Kirke sat down alone to wait for her return. He hid his face in his hands, and tried to realize the strange and touching situation in which the accidentsof a moment had placed him.

Hidden in the squalid by-ways of London, under a false name, cast, friendless and helpless, on the mercy of strangers by illness which had struck her prostrate, mind and body alike, so he met her again, the woman who had opened a new world of beauty to his mind—the woman who had called Love to life in him by a look! What horrible misfortune had struck her so cruelly, and struck her so low? What mysterious destiny had guided him to the last refuge of her poverty and despair in the hour of her sorest need? "If it is ordered that I am to see her again I shall see her." Those words came back to him now—the memorable words that he had spoken to his sister at parting. With that thought in his heart he had gone where his duty waited for him. Months and months had passed; thousands and thousands of miles, protracting their desolate length on the unresting waters, had rolled between them. And through the lapse of time, and over the waste of oceans, day after day, and night after night, as the winds of heaven blew, and the good ship toiled on before them, he had advanced nearer and nearer to the end that was waiting for him—he had journeyed blindfold to the meeting on the threshold of that miserable door. "What has brought me here?" he said to himself in a whisper. "The mercy of chance? No! The mercy of God."

He waited, unregardful of the place, unconscious of the time, until the sound of footsteps on the stairs came suddenly between him and his thoughts. The door opened, and the doctor was shown into the room.

"Dr. Merrick," said the landlady, placing a chair for him.

"Mr. Merrick," said the visitor, smiling quietly

as he took the chair. "I am not a physician —I am a surgeon in general practice." Physician or surgeon, there was something in his face and manner which told Kirke at a glance that he was a man to be relied on.

After a few preliminary words on either side, Mr. Merrick sent the landlady into the bedroom to see if his patient was awake or asleep. The woman returned, and said she was "betwixt the two, light in the head again, and burning hot." The doctor went at once into the bedroom, telling the landlady to follow him, and to close the door behind her.

A weary time passed before he came back into the front room. When he reappeared his face spoke for him before any question could be asked.

"Is it a serious illness?" said Kirke, his voice sinking low, his eyes anxiously fixed on the doctor's face.

"It is a dangerous illness," said Mr. Merrick, with an emphasis on the word.

He drew his chair nearer to Kirke, and looked at him attentively.

"May I ask you some questions which are not strictly medical?" he inquired.

Kirke bowed.

"Can you tell me what her life has been before she came into this house, and before she fell ill?"

"I have no means of knowing. I have just returned to England after a long absence."

"Did you know of her coming here?"

"I only discovered it by accident."

"DON'T DISTRESS MAMMA ABOUT ME," SHE SAID, "SEND FOR NORAH."