“Prisoner,” he pursued, after the lapse of a minute, “there is a third charge against you, viz. for having, on the night of the —­th Sept. 1763, suffered Captain De Haldimar to unclose the gate of the fortress, and, accompanied by his servant, private Harry Donellan, to pass your post without the sanction of the governor, such conduct being in direct violation of a standing order of the garrison, and punishable with death.”

The prisoner started.  “What!” he exclaimed, his cheek paling for the first time with momentary apprehension; “is this voluntary confession of my own to be turned into a charge that threatens my life?  Colonel de Haldimar, is the explanation which I gave you only this very hour, and in private, to be made the public instrument of my condemnation?  Am I to die because I had not firmness to resist the prayer of my captain and of your son, Colonel de Haldimar?”

The president looked towards the governor, but a significant motion of the head was the only reply; he proceeded,—­

“Prisoner Halloway, what plead you to this charge?  Guilty, or not guilty?”

“I see plainly,” said Halloway, after the pause of a minute, during which he appeared to be summoning all his energies to his aid; “I see plainly that it is useless to strive against my fate.  Captain de Haldimar is not here, and I must die.  Still I shall not have the disgrace of dying as a traitor, though I own I have violated the orders of the garrison.”

“Prisoner,” interrupted Captain Blessington, “whatever you may have to urge, you had better reserve for your defence.  Meanwhile, what answer do you make to the last charge preferred?—­Are you guilty, or not guilty?”

“Guilty,” said Halloway, in a tone of mingled pride and sorrow, “guilty of having listened to the earnest prayer of my captain, and suffered him, in violation of my orders, to pass my post.  Of the other charges I am innocent.”

The court listened with the most profound attention and interest to the words of the prisoner, and they glanced at each other in a manner that marked their sense of the truth they attached to his declaration.

“Halloway, prisoner,” resumed Captain Blessington, mildly, yet impressively; “recollect the severe penalty which the third charge, no less than the others, entails, and recall your admission.  Be advised by me,” he pursued, observing his hesitation.  “Withdraw your plea, then, and substitute that of not guilty to the whole.”

“Captain Blessington,” returned the prisoner with deep emotion, “I feel all the kindness of your motive; and if any thing can console me in my present situation, it is the circumstance of having presiding at my trial an officer so universally beloved by the whole corps.  Still,” and again his voice acquired its wonted firmness, and his cheek glowed with honest pride, “still, I say, I scorn to retract my words.  Of the two first charges I am as innocent as the babe unborn.  To the last I plead guilty; and vain would it be to say otherwise, since the gate was found open while I was on duty, and I know the penalty attached to the disobedience of orders.”