clenched, as if the soul had not been thus violently reft from the body, without a strong:  pang of mortal agony.  His right hand had stiffened round the hilt of his unsheathed sword, for the murderous blow had been dealt from behind, and with such fatal aim, that death must have been almost instantaneous, and the tight grasp of his sword the mere instinctive movement of expiring nature.  Awe-struck, chilled to the heart, did the noble friends of the departed gather round him.  On the first removal of the mantle, an irresistible yell of curses on the murderer burst forth from the soldiery, wrought into fury at thus beholding their almost idolized commander; but the stern woe on the Sovereign’s face hushed them into silence; and the groan of grief and horror which escaped involuntarily from Ferdinand’s lips, was heard throughout the hall.

“The murderer?” at length demanded many of the nobles at the same moment.  “Who has dared do this awful deed?  Don Alonzo, is there no clue to his person—­no trace of his path?”

“There is trace and clue enough,” was the brief and stern reply.  “The murderer is secured!”

“Ha!” exclaimed the King, roused at once; “secured, sayest thou?  In our bitter grief we had well-nigh forgotten justice.  Bring forth the dastardly craven; we would demand the reason of this cowardly blow ere we condemn him to the death of torture which his crime demands.  Let him confront his victim.  Why do you pause, my Lord?  Produce the murderer.”

Still Don Alonzo stood irresolute, and a full minute passed ere he signed to the men who had accompanied him.  A figure was instantly led forward, his arms strongly secured in his own mantle, and his hat so slouched over his face, that not a feature could be distinguished.  Still there was something in his appearance that struck a cold chill of doubt to the heart of the King, and in a voice strangely expressive of emotion, he commanded—­“Remove his hat and mantle:  we should know that form.”

He was obeyed, for there was no resistance on the part of the prisoner, whose inner dress was also stained with blood, as were his hands.  His cheek was ashy pale; his eye bloodshot and pale; and his whole appearance denoting such excessive agitation, that it would have gone far to condemn him, even had there been no other proof.

“Stanley!” burst from the astonished King, as a wild cry ran round the hall, and “Death to the ungrateful foreigner!”—­“Death to the base-born Englishman!”—­“Tortures and death!” escaped, in every variety of intonation, from the fierce soldiery, who, regardless even of their Sovereign’s presence, drew closer and closer round, clashing their weapons, and with difficulty restrained from tearing him to pieces where he stood.