My heart revolted from his hypocritical jargon:  but it was unworthy of me to combat in words with the ruffian; and my answer was cool; while, far from being possessed with fear, methought, even at the worst, a man true to himself, courageous and determined, could fight his way, even from the boards of the scaffold, through the herd of these misguided maniacs.  “Remember,” I said, “who I am; and be well assured that I shall not die unavenged.  Your legal magistrate, the Lord Protector, knew of my design, and is aware that I am here; the cry of blood will reach him, and you and your miserable victims will long lament the tragedy you are about to act.”

My antagonist did not deign to reply, even by a look;—­“You know your duty,” he said to his comrades,—­“obey.”

In a moment I was thrown on the earth, bound, blindfolded, and hurried away —­liberty of limb and sight was only restored to me, when, surrounded by dungeon-walls, dark and impervious, I found myself a prisoner and alone.

Such was the result of my attempt to gain over the proselyte of this man of crime; I could not conceive that he would dare put me to death.—­Yet I was in his hands; the path of his ambition had ever been dark and cruel; his power was founded upon fear; the one word which might cause me to die, unheard, unseen, in the obscurity of my dungeon, might be easier to speak than the deed of mercy to act.  He would not risk probably a public execution; but a private assassination would at once terrify any of my companions from attempting a like feat, at the same time that a cautious line of conduct might enable him to avoid the enquiries and the vengeance of Adrian.

Two months ago, in a vault more obscure than the one I now inhabited, I had revolved the design of quietly laying me down to die; now I shuddered at the approach of fate.  My imagination was busied in shaping forth the kind of death he would inflict.  Would he allow me to wear out life with famine; or was the food administered to me to be medicined with death?  Would he steal on me in my sleep; or should I contend to the last with my murderers, knowing, even while I struggled, that I must be overcome?  I lived upon an earth whose diminished population a child’s arithmetic might number; I had lived through long months with death stalking close at my side, while at intervals the shadow of his skeleton-shape darkened my path.  I had believed that I despised the grim phantom, and laughed his power to scorn.

Any other fate I should have met with courage, nay, have gone out gallantly to encounter.  But to be murdered thus at the midnight hour by cold-blooded assassins, no friendly hand to close my eyes, or receive my parting blessing—­to die in combat, hate and execration—­ah, why, my angel love, didst thou restore me to life, when already I had stepped within the portals of the tomb, now that so soon again I was to be flung back a mangled corpse!

Hours passed—­centuries.  Could I give words to the many thoughts which occupied me in endless succession during this interval, I should fill volumes.  The air was dank, the dungeon-floor mildewed and icy cold; hunger came upon me too, and no sound reached me from without.  To-morrow the ruffian had declared that I should die.  When would to-morrow come?  Was it not already here?