of the cavern, though burning very
dimly, would have shown him the big-beaded drops of sweat that now
started from the brows of the sleeper. But he could hear; and now a
word, a name, falls from the outlaw's lips--it is followed by murmured
imprecations. The feverish frame, tortured by the restless and
guilt-goading spirit, writhed as he delivered the curses in broken
accents. These, finally, grew into perfect sentences.

"Dying like a dog, in her sight! Ay, she shall see it! I will hiss in
her ears as she gazes--'It is _my_ work! this is _my_ revenge!' Ha! ha!
where her pride then?--her high birth and station?--wealth, family?
Dust, shame, agony, and death!"

Such were the murmured accents of the sleeping man, when they were
distinguishable by the hunter, who, crouching, beneath the curtain,
listened to his sleeping speech. But all was not exultation. The change
from the voice of triumph to that of woe was instantaneous; and the
curse and the cry, as of one in mortal agony, pain or terror, followed
the exulting speech.

The Georgian, now apprehensive that the outlaw would awaken, crept
forward, and, still upon his hands and knees, was now fairly within the
vaulted chamber. He was closely followed by one of his companions.
Hitherto, they had proceeded with great caution, and with a stealth and
silence that were almost perfect. But the third of the party to
enter--who was Brooks, the jailer--more eager, or more unfortunate, less
prudent certainly--not sufficiently stooping, as the other two had done,
or rising too soon--contrived to strike with his head the pole which
bore the curtain, and which, morticed in the sides of the cavern, ran
completely across the awkward entrance. A ringing noise was the
consequence, while Brooks himself was precipitated back into the
passage, with a smart cut over his brows.

The noise was not great, but quite sufficient to dissipate the slumbers
of the outlaw, whose sleep was never sound. With that decision and
fierce courage which marked his character, he sprang to his feet in an
instant, grasped the dirk which he always carried in his bosom, and
leaped forward, like a tiger, in the direction of the narrow entrance.
Familiar with all the sinuosities of his den, as well in daylight as in
darkness, the chances might have favored him even with two powerful
enemies within it. Certainly, had there been but one, he could have
dealt with him, and kept out others. But the very precipitation o