en now they were seized and accused of crimes for which their
tyrannical oppressors might condemn them to death. Sleep was
impossible, while the darkness prevented him from pacing up and down his
narrow cell, which would have been some relief to his tortured mind. He
felt for the pile of grass and lay down, considering that it would be
wiser to try and obtain some rest to prepare himself for the future
trials he would have to go through. The sudden destruction of all his
happiness, separation from his beloved Constance, and the agonising
death speedily to overtake him, made him have recourse to prayer to
obtain that strength ever awarded to those who seek it from on high.

Nigel had been sleeping for some time, when, suddenly awaking, he became
conscious that some one was in the vault, by hearing a footstep and a
low sound of breathing. A feeling of horror for a moment ran through
him. Could it be an assassin sent by the governor or priests to put him
secretly to death, and so to save themselves from carrying out the
sentence passed on him, from which even they might shrink, aware of the
horror it would create among the greater number of the colonists, who,
not having been educated in their school, would, whatever their
religious sentiments, look at it with disapprobation. Still, for
himself it would matter nothing, except being deprived of a few hours of
life, and he would thus be saved from the tortures of the flames. Such
thoughts rapidly passed through his mind; but in another moment he had
nerved himself, like a brave man, to meet whatever might occur. His
very natural feeling was to struggle desperately with his supposed
assassin. He might even gain the victory and thus make his escape.
Full of youth and strength, he felt that it would be better far to die
struggling bravely, should the guard set upon him, than to sink down
tamely where he lay. Springing to his feet, he stood with his arms
prepared for defence.

"Hush!" said a voice. "I thought you were still sleeping. Make no
noise--give me your hand and come quickly; there is not a moment to
lose."

Nigel knew by the voice and the mode of expression that it was the
Indian Cora who spoke. He put out his hand and felt it grasped by her
small and delicate fingers. To his surprise he found himself led almost
instantly into a narrow passage, with room sufficient only for one
person to pass through at a time.

"Stoop low," said Cora, as she conducted