t was yet two hours before the time, and with the old
spirit of a horseman, he husbanded the qualities of the noble animal
he bestrode. Whether it was, that as the moment approached which should
solve some of the many difficulties that beset him, or that the free
air of the morning, and the pleasure he felt on being once more in the
saddle, had rallied his mind and raised his courage, I know not, but
so it was; Mark's spirits grew each instant lighter, and he rode along
revolving other ones, if not happier thoughts, such as were at least in
a frame more befitting his youth and the bold heart that beat within
his bosom. The streets were deserted, the great city was sleeping, the
thoroughfares he had seen crowded with brilliant equipages and hurrying
masses of foot passengers, were still and vacant; and as Mark turned
from side to side to gaze on the stately public edifices now sleeping in
their own shadows, he thought of the dreadful conflict which, perchance,
it might be his own lot to lead in that same city--he thought of the
wild shout of the insurgent masses, as with long-pent-up, but now
loosened fury they poured into the devoted streets--he fancied the
swelling clangour which denoted the approach of troops, ringing through
the various approaches, and the clattering sounds of distant musketry as
post after post in different parts of the town was assailed. He halted
before the Castle gate, where a single dragoon sat motionless in his
saddle, his carbine at rest beneath his long cloak, the very emblem
of peaceful security, and as Mark gazed on him, his lip curled with an
insolent sneer as he thought over the false security of those within;
and that proud banner whose lazy folds scarce moved with the breath of
morning, "How soon may we see a national flag replace it?"--were the
words he muttered, as he resumed his way as slowly as before. A few
minutes after brought him in front of the College. All was still silent
in that vast area, along which at noon-day the wealth and the life of
the city poured. A single figure here appeared, a poor miserable object
in tattered black, who was occupied in affixing a placard on the front
of the Post-office. Mark stopped to watch him--there seemed something
sad and miserable in the lot of this one poor creature, singled out as
it were to labour while others were sunk in sleep. He drew near, and
as the paper was unfolded before him, read, in large letters, the words
"Capital Felony--L50