The heavens were obscured by passing clouds driven rapidly by the wind, during the short pauses of which our adventurers anxiously and frequently turned to listen if they were pursued.  Save the rustling of the trees that lined the road, and the slight dashing of the waters on the beach, however, no sound was distinguishable.  At length they gained the point whence they were to start.  It was the fatal bridge, the events connected with which were yet so painfully fresh in their recollection.

“Stop one minutes here,” whispered the Canadian, throwing his sack upon the sand near the mouth of the lesser river; “my canoe is chain about twenty yards up de bridge.  I shall come to you directly.”  Then cautioning the officers to keep themselves concealed under the bridge, he moved hastily under the arch, and disappeared in the dark shadow which it threw across the rivulet.

The extremities of the bridge rested on the banks of the little river in such a manner as to leave a narrow passage along the sands immediately under the declination of the arch.  In accordance with the caution of their conductor, the officers had placed themselves under it; and with their backs slightly bent forward to meet the curvature of the bridge, so that no ray of light could pass between their bodies and the fabric itself, now awaited the arrival of the vessel on which their only hope depended.  We shall not attempt to describe their feelings on finding themselves, at that lone hour of the night, immediately under a spot rendered fearfully memorable by the tragic occurrences of the morning.  The terrible pursuit of the fugitive, the execution of the soldier, the curse and prophecy of his maniac wife, and, above all, the forcible abduction and threatened espousal of that unhappy woman by the formidable being who seemed to have identified himself with the evils with which they stood menaced,—­all rushed with rapid tracery on the mind, and excited the imagination, until each, filled with a sentiment not unallied to superstitious awe, feared to whisper forth his thoughts, lest in so doing he should invoke the presence of those who had principally figured in the harrowing and revolting scene.

“Did you not hear a noise?” at length whispered the elder, as he leaned himself forward, and bent his head to the sand, to catch more distinctly a repetition of the sound.

“I did; there again!  It is upon the bridge, and not unlike the step of one endeavouring to tread lightly.  It may be some wild beast, however.”

“We must not be taken by surprise,” returned his companion.  “If it be a man, the wary tread indicates consciousness of our presence.  If an animal, there can be no harm in setting our fears at rest.”

Cautiously stealing from his lurking-place, the young officer emerged into the open sands, and in a few measured noiseless strides gained the extremity of the bridge.  The dark shadow of something upon its centre caught his eye, and a low sound like that of a dog lapping met his ear.  While his gaze yet lingered on the shapeless object, endeavouring to give it a character, the clouds which had so long obscured it passed momentarily from before the moon, and disclosed the appalling truth.  It was a wolf-dog lapping up from the earth, in which they were encrusted, the blood and brains of the unfortunate Frank Halloway.