brink of the
precipice, then snatch the shelter from thine eyes and bid thee leap!
Nay, 'tis not pride,--'tis the doom, the curse of my birthright that is
upon me. Maiden! I will but strike to thine heart, and then--poor soul!"
He shuddered; his voice grew tremulous and convulsed. "The stricken one
shall fall. Hark! the hounds are again upon my track!" The
well-practised ear of the hunted fugitive could discern the approach of
footsteps long before they were audible to an ordinary listener:--his
eye and ear seemed on the stretch;--his head bent forward in the same
direction;--he breathed not. Even Constance seemed to suspend the
current of her own thoughts at this interruption.

"They are approaching. In all likelihood 'tis a posse from the sheriff."
Again he listened. "They are armed. Nay, then, Tyrone thou must to
cover: thou canst not flee. Point not to the hiding-place I have left.
If, as I suspect, they bring a warrant of search, thy father's life may
be in jeopardy."

"Where,--oh, where?" said Constance, forgetful of all consequences, in
her anxiety for her father's fate and that of the illustrious stranger.

"In thy chamber, lady."

She drew back in dismay.

"Nay," continued he, guessing at the cause of her alarm. "They will not
care to scrutinise for me there with much exactness; and, by the faith
of my fathers, I will not wrong thee!"

There was a frankness, an open and undisguised freedom of manner, in
this address, which assured her. Her confidence returned, and she
committed herself promptly to the issue. She felt her soul expand with
the desire of contributing to his ultimate escape. All the ardour of her
nature was concentrated in this generous and self-devoted feeling. Too
innocent for suspicion she seemed to rise above its influence.

Silently, and with due caution, she led the unfortunate Earl to her own
chamber, where, in a recess opening through the bed's head into the
arras, he seemed secure from discovery.

Scarcely was this arrangement completed, ere a thundering knock
announced the visitor. It was an officer of justice, attended by some
half-dozen followers, who watched every avenue to the house whilst his
message was delivered within.

This official delivered into the hands of Holt a warrant for the
apprehension of O'Neale, Earl of Tyrone, a traitor, then suspected of
being harboured in the mansion of Grislehurst, whom the occupier was
commanded, on pain of being treated as an accompl