CHAPTER XVIII.
"The hour of vengeance strikes,—hark to the gale!
As it bursts hollow through the rolling clouds.
Such is the hand of Heaven!"
It came at length, swift, avenging justice; awful in might, and none could resist its angry hand.
The "pestilence that walketh at noonday," swept over the fair, young cities of the west, and thousands fell victims to the remorseless destroyer.
O, Cholera! great be the name of him, who, from the mazes of scientific lore, shall call a power to rob thee of thy terrors, thou scourge of mankind!
Lawrence Hardin returned from a southern trip to find his house left desolate; wife and child both in their hastily-covered graves. He shook with agony, and scarce was the first frantic burst of grief subsided, ere the officers of justice entered his mansion and declared him their prisoner. He glared at them wildly.
"What mean you," he asked, "by this untimely intrusion in the house of death?"
"Prepare to accompany us to the court-room immediately," was the answer, "to answer to a charge of swindling and forgery preferred by one John Sumpter, who is also arrested and undergoing examination."