“Ha! ha! by Heaven, such cold, pompous insolence amuses me,” vociferated Wacousta.  “It reminds me of Ensign de Haldimar of nearly five and twenty years back, who was then as cunning a dissembler as he is now.”  Suddenly changing his ribald tone to one of scorn and rage:—­“You believe me, you say, to be Reginald Morton the outlaw.  Well do you know it.  I am that Sir Reginald Morton, who became an outlaw, not through his own crimes, but through your villainy.  Ay, frown as you may, I heed it not.  You may award me death, but shall not chain my tongue.  To your whole regiment do I proclaim you for a false, remorseless villain.”  Then turning his flashing eye along the ranks:—­“I was once an officer in this corps, and long before any of you wore the accursed uniform.  That man, that fiend, affected to be my friend; and under the guise of friendship, stole into the heart I loved better than my own life.  Yes,” fervently pursued the excited prisoner, stamping violently with his foot upon the earth, “he robbed me of my affianced wife; and for that I resented an outrage that should have banished him to some lone region, where he might never again pollute human nature with his presence—­he caused me to be tried by a court-martial, and dismissed the service.  Then, indeed, I became the outlaw he has described, but not until then.  Now, Colonel de Haldimar, that I have proclaimed your infamy, poor and inefficient as the triumph be, do your worst—­I ask no mercy.  Yesterday I thought that years of toilsome pursuit of the means of vengeance were about to be crowned with success; but fate has turned the tables on me and I yield.”

To all but the baronet and Captain Blessington this declaration was productive of the utmost surprise.  Every eye was turned upon the colonel.  He grew impatient under the scrutiny, and demanded if the court, who meanwhile had been deliberating, satisfied of the guilt of the prisoner, had come to a decision in regard to his punishment.  An affirmative answer was given, and Colonel de Haldimar proceeded.

“Reginald Morton, with the private misfortunes of your former life we have nothing to do.  It is the decision of this court, who are merely met out of form, that you suffer immediate death by hanging, as a just recompense for your double treason to your country.  There,” and he pointed to the flag-staff, “will you be exhibited to the misguided people whom your wicked artifices have stirred up into hostility against us.  When they behold your fate, they will take warning from your example; and, finding we have heads and arms not to suffer offence with impunity, be more readily brought to obedience.”

“I understand your allusion,” coolly rejoined Wacousta, glancing earnestly at, and apparently measuring with his eye, the dimensions of the conspicuous scaffold on which he was to suffer.  “You had ever a calculating head, De Haldimar, where any secret villainy, any thing to promote your own selfish ends, was to be gained by it; but your calculation seems now, methinks, at fault”