The blood ran coldly through every vein during the perusal of these important sentences, but not one word of comment was offered by an individual of the group.  No explanation was necessary.  The captives in the canoe, the tall warrior in its stern, all sufficiently betrayed the horrible truth.

Colonel de Haldimar at length turned an enquiring look at his two captains, and then addressing the adjutant, asked—­

“What companies are off duty to-day, Mr. Lawson?”

“Mine,” said Blessington, with an energy that denoted how deeply rejoiced he felt at the fact, and without giving the adjutant time to reply.

“And mine,” impetuously added Captain Erskine; “and, by G—!  I will answer for them; they never embarked on a duty of the sort with greater zeal than they will on this occasion.”

“Gentlemen, I thank you,” said Colonel de Haldimar, with deep emotion, as he stepped forward and grasped in turn the hands of the generous-hearted officers.  “To Heaven, and to your exertions, do I commit my children.”

“Any artillery, colonel?” enquired the officer of that corps.

“No, Wentworth, no artillery.  Whatever remains to be done, must be achieved by the bayonet alone, and under favour of the darkness.  Gentlemen, again I thank you for this generous interest in my children—­this forwardness in an enterprise on which depend the lives of so many dear friends.  I am not one given to express warm emotion, but I do, indeed, appreciate this conduct deeply.”  He then moved away, desiring Mr. Lawson, as he quitted the rampart, to cause the men for this service to be got in instant readiness.

Following the example of their colonel, Captains Blessington and Erskine quitted the rampart also, hastening to satisfy themselves by personal inspection of the efficiency in all respects of their several companies; and in a few minutes, the only individual to be seen in that quarter of the works was the sentinel, who had been a silent and pained witness of all that had passed among his officers.

CHAPTER VI.

Doubtless, many of our readers are prepared to expect that the doom of the unfortunate Frank Halloway was, as an officer of his regiment had already hinted, the fruit of some personal pique and concealed motive of vengeance; and that the denouement of our melancholy story will afford evidence of the governor’s knowledge of the true character of him, who, under an assumed name, excited such general interest at his trial and death, not only among his military superiors, but those with whom his adverse destiny had more immediately associated him.  It has already been urged to us, by one or two of our critical friends to whom we have submitted what has been thus far written in our tale, that, to explain satisfactorily and consistently the extreme severity of the governor, some secret and personally influencing motive must be assigned;