CHAPTER XXXIII.
BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH.
And while Sir Everard Kingsland lay in his felon's cell, doomed to die, where was she for whose murder he was to give his life?
Really murdered?
Harriet--Lady Kingsland--was not dead.

Hundreds of miles of sea and land rolled between her and Kingsland Court, and in a stately New York mansion she looked out at the sparkling April sunshine, with life and health beating strong in her breast.
Mr.George Washington Parmalee had saved her life.

On that tragic night of March tenth, he had quitted the Blue Bell with Mrs.Denover, and descended at once to the shore, where a boat from the "Angelina Dobbs" was awaiting them.
Mr.Parmalee took the oars and rowed away in the direction of the park.
The sickly glimmer of the moon showed him the stone terrace and the solitary figure standing waiting there.

But the noise of the wash on the beach and the sighing of the trees prevented Harriet from hearing the dip of the sculls.

On the sea the night was so dark that the boat glided along unseen.
He had neared the spot and rowed softly along under the deep shadow of overhanging trees, when he espied a second figure, muffled in a cloak, emerge and confront the lady.