der tottered
forward in his saddle, his grasp was relaxed upon the rein, and, without
a word, he toppled from his seat, and was borne for a few paces by his
horse, dragged forward by one of his feet, which had not been released
from the stirrup.

He fell, at length, and the youth came up with him. He heard the groans
of the wounded man, and, though exposing himself to the same chance, he
could not determine upon flight. He might possibly have saved himself by
taking the now freed animal which the, landlord had ridden, and at once
burying himself in the nation. But the noble weakness of pity determined
him otherwise; and, without scruple or fear, he resolutely advanced to
the spot whore Munro lay, though full in the sight of the pursuers, and
prepared to render him what assistance he could. One of the troopers, in
the meantime, had swum the river; and, freeing the flat from its chains,
had directed it across the stream for the passage of his companions. It
was not long before they had surrounded the fugitives, and Ralph
Colleton was again a prisoner, and once more made conscious of the
dreadful doom from which he had, at one moment, almost conceived himself
to have escaped.

Munro had been shockingly wounded. One ball had pierced his thigh,
inflicting a severe, though probably not a fatal wound. Another, and
this had been enough, had penetrated directly behind the eyes, keeping
its course so truly across, as to tear and turn the bloody orbs
completely out upon the cheek beneath. The first words of the dying man
were--

"Is the moon gone down--lights--bring lights!"

"No, Munro; the moon is still shining without a cloud, and as brightly
as if it were day" was the reply of Ralph.

"Who speaks--speak again, that I may know how to believe him."

"It is I, Munro--I, Ralph Colleton."

"Then it is true--and I am a dead man. It is all over, and he came not
to me for nothing. Yet, can I have no lights--no lights?--Ah!" and the
half-reluctant reason grew more terribly conscious of his situation, as
he thrust his fingers into the bleeding sockets from which the fine and
delicate conductor of light had been so suddenly driven. He howled aloud
for several moments in his agony--in the first agony which came with
that consciousness--but, recovering, at length, he spoke with something
of calm and coherence.

"Well, Mr. Colleton, what I said was true. I knew it would be so. I had
warning enough to prepare, and I did try, but it