When this violent paroxysm had somewhat subsided, De Haldimar became more composed; but his was rather that composure which grows out of the apathy produced by overwhelming grief, than the result of any relief afforded to his suffering heart by the tears he had shed.  He had continued some time in this faint and apparently tranquil state, when confused sounds in the barrack-yard, followed by the raising of the heavy drawbridge, announced the return of the detachment.  Again he started up in his bed and demanded his clothes, declaring his intention to go out and receive the corpse of his murdered brother.  All opposition on the part of the faithful Morrison was now likely to prove fruitless, when suddenly the door opened, and an officer burst hurriedly into the room.

“Courage! courage! my dear De Haldimar; I am the bearer of good news.  Your brother is not the person who has been slain.”

Again De Haldimar sank back upon his pillow, overcome by a variety of conflicting emotions.  A moment afterwards, and he exclaimed reproachfully, yet almost gasping with the eagerness of his manner,—­

“For God’s sake, Sumners—­in the name of common humanity, do not trifle with my feelings.  If you would seek to lull me with false hopes, you are wrong.  I am prepared to hear and bear the worst at present; but to be undeceived again would break my heart.”

“I swear to you by every thing I have been taught to revere as sacred,” solemnly returned Ensign Sumners, deeply touched by the affliction he witnessed, “what I state is strictly true.  Captain Erskine himself sent me to tell you.”

“What, is he only wounded then?” and a glow of mingled hope and satisfaction was visible even through the flush of previous excitement on the cheek of the sufferer.  “Quick, Morrison, give me my clothes.—­Where is my brother, Sumners?” and again he raised up his debilitated frame with the intention of quitting his couch.

“De Haldimar, my dear De Haldimar, compose yourself, and listen to me.  Your brother is still missing, and we are as much in the dark about his fate as ever.  All that is certain is, we have no positive knowledge of his death; but surely that is a thousand times preferable to the horrid apprehensions under which we have all hitherto laboured.”

“What mean you, Sumners? or am I so bewildered by my sufferings as not to comprehend you clearly?—­Nay, nay, forgive me; but I am almost heart-broken at this loss, and scarcely know what I say.  But what is it you mean?  I saw my unhappy brother lying on the common with my own eyes.  Poor Valletort, himself—­” here a rush of bitter recollections flashed on the memory of the young man, and the tears coursed each other rapidly down his cheek.  His emotion lasted for a few moments, and he pursued,—­“Poor Valletort himself saw him, for he was nearly as much overwhelmed with affliction as I was; and even Morrison beheld him also, not ten minutes since, under the very walls of the fort; nay, distinguished the wings of his uniform:  and yet you would persuade me my brother, instead of being brought in a corpse, is still missing and alive.  This is little better than trifling with my wretchedness, Sumners,” and again he sank back exhausted on his pillow.