Halloway.

Sick and faint at the disgusting sight, the young man
rested his elbow on the railing that passed along the
edge of the bridge, and, leaning his head on his hand
for a moment, forgot the risk of exposure he incurred,
in the intenseness of the sorrow that assailed his soul.
His heart and imagination were already far from the spot
on which he stood, when he felt an iron hand upon his
shoulder. He turned, shuddering with an instinctive
knowledge of his yet unseen visitant, and beheld standing
over him the terrible warrior of the Fleur de lis.

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the savage in a low triumphant
tone, "the place of our meeting is well timed, though
somewhat singular, it must be confessed. Nay," he fiercely
added, grasping as in a vice the arm that was already
lifted to strike him, "force me not to annihilate you on
the spot. Ha! hear you the cry of my wolf-dog?" as that
animal now set up a low but fearful howl; "it is for your
blood he asks, but your hour is not yet come."

"No, by Heaven, is it not!" exclaimed a voice; a rapid
and rushing sweep was heard through the air for an instant,
and then a report like a stunning blow. The warrior
released his grasp--placed his hand upon his tomahawk,
but without strength to remove it from his belt tottered
a pace or two backwards--and then fell, uttering a cry
of mingled pain and disappointment, at his length upon
the earth.