“Tiger!—­monster!” she raved, “restore my brother!—­give me back the gentle life you have taken, or destroy my own!  See, I am a weak defenceless girl:  can you not strike?—­you who have no pity for the innocent.  But come,” she pursued, mournfully, regaining her feet and grasping his iron hand,—­“come and see the sweet calm face of him you have slain:—­come with me, and behold the image of Clara Beverley; and, if you ever loved her as you say you did, let your soul be touched with remorse for your crime.”

The excitement and confusion produced by this unexpected interruption was great.  Murmurs of compassion for the unhappy Clara, and of indignation against the prisoner, were no longer sought to be repressed by the men; while the officers, quitting their places in the ranks, grouped themselves indiscriminately in the foreground.  One, more impatient than his companions, sprang forward, and forcibly drew away the delicate, hand that still grasped that of the captive.  It was Sir Everard Valletort.

“Clara, my beloved wife!” he exclaimed, to the astonishment of all who heard him, “pollute not your lips by further communion with such a wretch; his heart is as inaccessible to pity as the rugged rocks on which his spring-life was passed.  For Heaven’s sake,—­for my sake,—­linger not within his reach.  There is death in his very presence.”

“Your wife, sir!” haughtily observed the governor, with irrepressible astonishment and indignation in his voice; “what mean you?—­Gentlemen, resume your places in the ranks.—­Clara—­Miss de Haldimar, I command you to retire instantly to your apartment.—­We will discourse of this later, Sir Everard Valletort.  I trust you have not dared to offer an indignity to my child.”

While he was yet turned to that officer, who had taken his post, as commanded, in the inner angle of the square, and with a countenance that denoted the conflicting emotions of his soul, he was suddenly startled by the confused shout and rushing forward of the whole body, both of officers and men.  Before he had time to turn, a loud and well-remembered yell burst upon his ear.  The next moment, to his infinite surprise and horror, he beheld the bold warrior rapidly ascending the very staff that had been destined for his scaffold, and with Clara in his arms.

Great was the confusion that ensued.  To rush forward and surround the flag-staff, was the immediate action of the troops.  Many of the men raised their muskets, and in the excitement of the moment, would have fired, had they not been restrained by their officers, who pointed out the certain destruction it would entail on the unfortunate Clara.  With the rapidity of thought, Wacousta had snatched up his victim, while the attention of the troops was directed to the singular conversation passing between the governor and Sir Everard Valletort, and darting through one of the open angles already alluded to, had gained the rampart before they had recovered from