and he laid his hand heavily on Aguilar's shoulder--"Man, man, how can
this be? Who would dare lift up the assassin's hand against him--him,
the favorite of our subjects as of ourselves? Who had cause of
enmity--of even rivalship with him? Thou art mistaken, man; it
_cannot_ be! Thou art scared with the sight of murder, and no marvel;
but it cannot be Morales thou hast seen."

"Alas! my liege, I too believed it not; but the murdered corpse now
lying in the hall will be too bloody witness of my truth."

The King released his hold, and without a word of rejoinder, strode
from the apartment, and hastily traversing the long galleries, and
many stairs, neither paused nor spoke, till, followed by all his
nobles, he reached the hall. It was filled with soldiers, who, with
loud and furious voices, mingled execrations deep and fearful on
the murderer, with bitter lamentations on the victim. A sudden
and respectful hush acknowledged the presence of the Sovereign;
Ferdinand's brows were darkly knit, his lip compressed, his eyes
flashing sternly over the dense crowd; but he asked no question, nor
relaxed his hasty stride till he stood beside the litter on which,
covered with a mantle, the murdered One was lying. For a single minute
he evidently paused, and his countenance, usually so controlled as
never to betray emotion, visibly worked with some strong feeling,
which seemed to prevent the confirmation of his fears, by the trifling
movement of lifting up the mantle. But at length, and with a hurried
movement, it was cast aside; and there lay that noble form, cold,
rigid in death! The King pushed the long, jetty hair, now clotted with
gore, from the cheek on which it had fallen; and he recognized, too
well, the high, thoughtful brow, now white, cold as marble; the large,
dark eye, whose fixed and glassy stare had so horribly replaced the