ciples barefaced.--
Had we not better send up a party and search the house, in case some of
the bloody villains concerned in this heathenish butchery may be
concealed in it?"

Ere Morton could recover from the alarm into which this proposal had
thrown him, a third speaker rejoined, "I cannot think it at all
necessary; Milnwood is an infirm, hypochondriac old man, who never
meddles with politics, and loves his moneybags and bonds better than any
thing else in the world. His nephew, I hear, was at the wappenschaw
to-day, and gained the popinjay, which does not look like a fanatic. I
should think they are all gone to bed long since, and an alarm at this
time of night might kill the poor old man."

"Well," rejoined the leader, "if that be so, to search the house would be
lost time, of which we have but little to throw away. Gentlemen of the
Life-Guards, forward--March!"

A few notes on the trumpet, mingled with the occasional boom of the
kettle-drum, to mark the cadence, joined with the tramp of hoofs and the
clash of arms, announced that the troop had resumed its march. The moon
broke out as the leading files of the column attained a hill up which the
road winded, and showed indistinctly the glittering of the steel-caps;
and the dark figures of the horses and riders might be imperfectly traced
through the gloom. They continued to advance up the hill, and sweep over
the top of it in such long succession, as intimated a considerable
numerical force.

When the last of them had disappeared, young Morton resumed his purpose
of visiting his guest. Upon entering the place of refuge, he found him
seated on his humble couch with a pocket Bible open in his hand, which he
seemed to study with intense meditation. His broadsword, which he had
unsheathed in the first alarm at the arrival of the dragoons, lay naked
across his knees, and the little taper that stood beside him upon the old
chest, which served the purpose of a table, threw a partial and imperfect
light upon those stern and harsh features, in which ferocity was rendered
more solemn and dignified by a wild cast of tragic enthusiasm. His brow
was that of one in whom some strong o'ermastering principle has
overwhelmed all other passions and feelings, like the swell of a high
spring-tide, when the usual cliffs and breakers vanish from the eye, and
their existence is only indicated by the chasing foam of the waves that
burst and wheel over them. He raised his head, after Mort