ed, but in a
voice that was remarked to falter,--

"Mr. Lawson, let the prisoner be brought forth."

The feeling of suspense that ensued between the delivery and execution
of this command was painful throughout the ranks. All were penetrated
with curiosity to behold a man who had several times appeared to them
under the most appalling circumstances, and against whom the strongest
feeling of indignation had been excited for his barbarous murder of
Charles de Haldimar. It was with mingled awe and anger they now awaited
his approach. At length the captive was seen advancing from the cell in
which he had been confined, his gigantic form towering far above those
of the guard of grenadiers by whom he was surrounded; and with a
haughtiness in his air, and insolence in his manner, that told he came
to confront his enemy with a spirit unsubdued by the fate that too
probably awaited him.

Many an eye was turned upon the governor at that moment. He was
evidently struggling for composure to meet the scene he felt it to be
impossible to avoid; and he turned pale and paler as his enemy drew
near.

At length the prisoner stood nearly in the same spot where his
unfortunate nephew had lingered on a former occasion. He was unchained;
but his hands were firmly secured behind his back. He threw himself
into an attitude of carelessness, resting on one foot, and tapping the
earth with the other; riveting his eye, at the same time, with an
expression of the most daring insolence, on the governor, while his
swarthy cheek was moreover lighted up with a smile of the deepest scorn.

"You are Reginald Morton the outlaw, I believe," at length observed the
governor in an uncertain tone, that, however, acquired greater firmness
as he proceeded,--"one whose life has already been forfeited through
his treasonable practices in Europe, and who has, moreover, incurred
the penalty of an ignominious death, by acting in this country as a spy
of the enemies of England. What say you, Reginald Morton, that you
should not be convicted in the death that awaits the traitor?"

"Ha! ha! by Heaven, such cold, pompous insolence amuses me,"
vociferated Wacousta. "It reminds me of Ensign de Haldimar of nearly
five and twenty years back, who was then as cunning a dissembler as he
is now." Suddenly changing his ribald tone to one of scorn and
rage:--"You BELIEVE me, you say, to be Reginald Morton the outlaw. Well
do you know it. I am that Sir Reginald Morton, who b