was rapidly approaching his end; the blood flowed
thick and heavy through his veins, and the film of death was fast
dimming his sight: still his noble features shewed no symptoms of
unmanly emotion; but fixing his dying eyes upon the renegade, in a firm
tone he said--

"Bermudo, thy hellish desire is but partially fulfilled; I die not in
despair; despair is the attribute of cowards, not of Gomez Arias: I feel
thy poison burning in my veins, yet my soul takes its flight with
calmness. Wretched man," he then added, "may God forgive thee as I do:
and thou, dear and last object of my solicitude," he said, faintly
addressing himself to the disconsolate Theodora, who, in a paroxysm of
agony, was kneeling beside him, "Theodora, injured and unfortunate girl,
too late I appreciate thy value; too late I deplore my fault. Oh! if I
regret existence, it is because I cannot live to prove my love and
gratitude. Forgive me, Theodora! forgive the repentant Gomez Arias!"

His dim eyes were cast tenderly on her despairing countenance, and
pressing gently her clammy hand, he breathed his last.

The piercing cries and lamentations of Theodora deeply affected the
spectators of this tragic scene: she tore her flowing tresses, and
falling on the bleeding corpse, in a wild incoherent tone poured forth
her anguish. The renegade himself appeared somewhat moved at the
exhibition of her frantic sorrow. The darksome deed was done; his enemy
was dead, and Bermudo seemed no longer to live in this world; stupor and
apathy were overshadowing his countenance, for the principle that fed
his life was now no more.

The soldiers were about to move away with the prisoner, when a minister
of religion addressed him:--

"Sinner," he cried, "behold your deadly crime and repent; repent ere
'tis too late; thy mortal career is short; employ it, then, in calming
the offended justice of heaven."

"Friar," said firmly the renegade, "my conscience is seared; my soul has
no longer sympathy with human feelings; I cannot, will not now repent me
of a deed which has been the sole object of my existence. Lead me to
torture, and when ye tear this flesh, and suffering nature is unable to
sustain the racking pangs, then, even then, my eyes, faithful
interpreters of my soul, will tell you I shrink not from my fate; the
poniard that struck my foe I might have plunged in this breast, but I
disdained to evade the recompense of my deed. Lead me to torture, but
mock me not wit