“In the name of God and all his angels, let mercy reach your soul, and grant his prayer!”

Every ear was startled—­every heart touched by the plaintive, melancholy, silver tones of the voice that faintly pronounced the last appeal, and all recognised it for that of the young, interesting, and attached wife of the prisoner.  Again the latter turned his gaze towards the window whence the sounds proceeded, and by the glare of the torches a tear was distinctly seen by many coursing down his manly cheek.  The weakness was momentary.  In the next instant he closed his shirt and coat, and resuming his cap, stepped back once more amid his guard, where he remained stationary, with the air of one who, having nothing further to hope, has resolved to endure the worst that can happen with resignation and fortitude.

After the lapse of a few moments, again devoted to much apparent deep thought and conjecture, the Governor once more, and rather hurriedly, resumed,—­

“In the event, prisoner, of this delay in your trial being granted, will you pledge yourself to disclose the secret to which you have alluded?  Recollect, there is nothing but that which can save your memory from being consigned to infamy for ever; for who, among your comrades, will believe the idle denial of your treachery, when there is the most direct proof against you?  If your secret die with you, moreover, every honest man will consider it as having been one so infamous and injurious to your character, that you were ashamed to reveal it.”

These suggestions of the Colonel were not without their effect; for, in the sudden swelling of the prisoner’s chest, as allusion was made to the disgrace that would attach to his memory, there was evidence of a high and generous spirit, to whom obloquy was far more hateful than even death itself.

“I do promise,” he at length replied, stepping forward, and uncovering himself as before,—­“if no one appear to justify my conduct at the hour I have named, a full disclosure of all I know touching this affair shall be made.  And may God, of his infinite mercy, grant, for Captain de Haldimar’s sake, as well as mine, I may not then be wholly deserted!”

There was something so peculiarly solemn and impressive in the manner in which the unhappy man now expressed himself, that a feeling of the utmost awe crept into the bosoms of the surrounding throng; and more than one veteran of the grenadiers, the company to which Halloway belonged, was heard to relieve his chest of the long pent-up sigh that struggled for release.

“Enough, prisoner,” rejoined the Governor; “on this condition do I grant your request; but recollect,—­your disclosure ensures no hope of pardon, unless, indeed, you have the fullest proof to offer in your defence.  Do you perfectly understand me? "

“I do,” replied the soldier firmly; and again he placed his cap on his head, and retired a step or two back among the guard.