gratification he felt in the praises bestowed on his
friend. "Bravo, my dear fellow;" then approaching, and
in a half whisper, "when next I write to Clara, I shall
request her, with my cousin's assistance, to prepare a
chaplet of bays, wherewith I shall myself crown you as
their proxy. But what is the matter now, Valletort? Why
stand you there gazing upon the common, as if the victim
of your murderous aim was rising from his bloody couch,
to reproach you with his death? Tell me, shall I write
to Clara for the prize, or will you receive it from her
own hands?"

"Bid her rather pour her curses on my head; and to those,
De Haldimar, add your own," exclaimed Sir Everard, at
length raising himself from the statue-like position he
had assumed. "Almighty God," he pursued, in the same tone
of deep agony, "what have I done? Where, where shall I
hide myself?"

As he spoke he turned away from his companions, and
covering his eyes with his hand, with quick and unequal
steps, even like those of a drunken man, walked, or rather
ran, along the rampart, as if fearful of being overtaken.

The whole group of officers, and Charles de Haldimar in
particular, were struck with dismay at the language and
action of Sir Everard; and for a moment they fancied that
fatigue, and watching, and excitement, had partially
affected his brain. But when, after the lapse of a minute
or two, they again looked out upon the common, the secret