prudent guard; the Italian sought only to slay his adversary, caring not to defend himself; Arthur evidently endeavored merely to unhelm the traitor, and bring him but slightly wounded to the ground.  For several minutes there was no cessation in that fearful clash of steel; the strokes were so rapid, so continued, a hundred combatants might have seemed engaged.  A moment they drew back, as if to breathe; the Italian, with a despairing effort, raised his weapon and sprung forwards; Arthur lightly leaped aside, and the murderous stroke clove but the yielding earth.  Another second, and ere the Italian had regained his equilibrium, Arthur’s sword had descended with so true and sure a stroke that the clasp of the helmet gave way, the dark blood bubbled up from the cloven brow, he reeled and fell; and a long, loud shout from the officers and soldiers, who, at the sound of arms, had flocked round, proclaimed some stronger feeling than simply admiration of Stanley’s well-known prowess.

“Seize him! seize him! or by Heaven he will escape us yet!” were among the few words intelligible.  “The daring villain, to come amongst us!  Did he think for ever to elude Heaven’s vengeance?  Bind, fetter, hold him; or his assistant fiends will release him still!”

Fiercely the fallen man had striven to extricate himself; but Stanley’s knee moved not from his breast, nor his sword from his throat, until a strong guard had raised and surrounded him:  “but the horrible passions imprinted on those lived features were such, that his very captors turned away shuddering.

“Hadst thou not had enough of blood and crime, thou human monster, that thou wouldst stain thy already blackened soul with, another midnight murder?” demanded Stanley, as he sternly confronted his baffled foe.  “Don Luis Garcia, as men have termed thee, what claim have I on thy pursuing and unchanging hate?  With what dost thou charge me?  What wrong?”

“Wrong!” hoarsely and fiercely repeated Don Louis.  “The wrong of baffled hate; of success, when I planned thy downfall; of escape, when I had sworn thy death!  Did the drivelling idiots, who haunted, persecuted, excommunicated me from these realms, as some loathed reptile, dream that I would draw back from my sworn vengeance for such as they?  Poor, miserable fools, whom the first scent of danger would turn aside from the pursuit of hate!  I staked my life on thine, and the stake is lost; but what care I?  My hate shall follow thee; wither thy bones with its curse; poison every joy; blight every hope; rankle in thy life blood!  Bid thee seek health, and bite the dust for anguish because it flies thee!  And for me.  Ha, ha!  Men may think to judge me—­torture, triumph, slay!  Well, let them.”  And with a movement so sudden and so desperate, that to avert it was impossible, he burst from the grasp of his guards; and with one spring, stood firm and triumphant on the farthest edge of the battlement.  “Now follow me who