forth the
dastardly craven; we would demand the reason of this cowardly blow ere
we condemn him to the death of torture which his crime demands. Let
him confront his victim. Why do you pause, my Lord? Produce the
murderer."

Still Don Alonzo stood irresolute, and a full minute passed ere he
signed to the men who had accompanied him. A figure was instantly led
forward, his arms strongly secured in his own mantle, and his hat so
slouched over his face, that not a feature could be distinguished.
Still there was something in his appearance that struck a cold chill
of doubt to the heart of the King, and in a voice strangely expressive
of emotion, he commanded--"Remove his hat and mantle: we should know
that form."

He was obeyed, for there was no resistance on the part of the
prisoner, whose inner dress was also stained with blood, as were his
hands. His cheek was ashy pale; his eye bloodshot and pale; and his
whole appearance denoting such excessive agitation, that it would have
gone far to condemn him, even had there been no other proof.

"Stanley!" burst from the astonished King, as a wild cry ran round
the hall, and "Death to the ungrateful foreigner!"--"Death to the
base-born Englishman!"--"Tortures and death!" escaped, in every
variety of intonation, from the fierce soldiery, who, regardless even
of their Sovereign's presence, drew closer and closer round, clashing
their weapons, and with difficulty restrained from tearing him to
pieces where he stood.

"He was my foe," muttered the prisoner, almost unconscious of the
import of his words, or how far they would confirm the suspicions
against him. "He robbed me of happiness--he destined me to misery. I
hated him; but I did not murder him. I swore to take his life or lose
my own; but not thus--not thus. Great God! to see him lying there, and
feel it might have been my hand. Men, men! would ye quench hatred,
behold its object stricken before you by a dastard blow like this, and
ye will feel its enormity and horror. I did not slay him; I would
give my life to the murderer's dagger to call him back, and ask his
forgiveness for the thoughts of blood I entertained against him; but I
touched him not--my sword is stainless."

"Thou liest, false traitor!" exclaimed Don Felix, fiercely, and he
held up the hilt and about four inches of a sword, the remainder of
which was still in the body. "Behold the evidence to thy black lie!
My liege, this fragment was found beside the b