holding children by the hands, and fainted not, but observed the sight, and shuddered without shrieking, and stood there all dumb as ghosts. But the body was now borne along by many hands at first none knew in what direction, till many voices muttered, "To Moorside to Moorside "- and in an hour it was laid on a bed in which Margaret Burnside had so often slept with her beloved little Ann in her bosom. The hand of some one had thrown a cloth over the corpse. The room was filled with people but all their power and capacity of horror had been exhausted-and the silence was now almost like that which attends a natural death, when all the neighbors are assembled for the funeral. Alice, with little Ann beside her, kneeled at the bed, nor feared to lean her head close to the covered corpse-sobbing out syllables that showed how passionately she prayed and that she and her little neice- and, oh! for that unhappy father were delivering themselves up into the hands of God. The father knelt not did he sit down at the foot of the bed, with arms folded almost sternly and with eyes fixed on the sheet, in which there seemed to be neither ruth nor dread—but only an austere composure, which were it indeed but resig nation to that dismal decree of Providence, had been most sublime but who can see into the heart of a man, either righteous or wicked, and know what may nor move nor groan - neither - but stood be passing there, breathed from the gates of heaven or of hell! Soon as the body had been found, shepherds and herdsmen, fleet of foot as the deer, had set off to scour the country far and wide, hill and glen, mountain and morass, moor and wood, for the murderer. If he be on the face of the earth, and not self-plunged in despairing suicide into some quagmire, he will be found for all the population of many districts are now afoot, and precipices are climbed till now brushed but by the falcons. A figure like that of a man, is seen by some of the hunters from a hill-top, lying among the stones by the side of a solitary loch. They separate, and descend upon him, and then gathering in, they behold the man whom they seek-Ludovic Adamson, the murderer. His face is pale and haggard - yet flushed as if by a fever centered in his heart. That is no dress for the Sabbath-day-soiled and savage-lookingand giving to the eyes that search an assurance of guilt. He starts to his feet, as they think, like some wild beast surprised in his lair, and gathering itself up to fight or fly. But-strange enormity a Bible is in his hand! And the shepherd who first seized him, taking the book out of his grasp, looks into the page and reads, "Whoever sheddeth man's blood, by man shall his blood be surely shed." On a leaf is written, in her own well-known hand, "The gift of Margaret Burnside!" Not a word is said by his captors they offer no needless violence-no indignities-but answer all inquiries of surprise and astonishment (Oh! can one so young be so hardened in wickedness!) by a stern silence, and upbraiding eyes, that like daggers must stab his heart. At last he walks doggedly and sullenly along, and refuses to speak - yet his tread is firm there is no want of composure in his face now that the first passion of fear or anger has left it; and now that they have the murderer in their clutch, some begin almost to pity him, and others to believe, or at least to hope, that he may be innocent. As yet they have said not a word of the crime of which they accuse him; but let him try to master the expression of his voice and eyes as he may, guilt is in those stealthy glances-guilt is in those reckless tones. And why does he seek to hide his right hand in his bosom? And whatever he may affect to say they ask him not that stain on his shirt-collar is blood. are at Moorside. most certainly But now they There is still a great crowd all round about the house in the garden- and at the door - and a troubled cry announces that the criminal has been taken, and is close at hand. His father meets him at the gate; and, kneeling down, holds up his clasped hands, and says, "My son if thou art guilty, confess, and die." The criminal angrily waves his father aside, and walks towards the door. "Fools! fools! what mean ye by this? What crime has been com mitted? And how dare ye to think me the criminal? Am I like a murderer?" "We never spoke to him of the murder. we never spoke to him of the murder!" cried one of the men who now held him by the arm; and all assembled then exclaimed, "Guilty, guilty that one word will hang him! Oh, pity, pity, for his father and poor sister- this will break their hearts!" Appalled, yet firm of foot, the prisoner forced his way into the house, and turning, in his confusion, into the chamber on the left, there he beheld the corpse of the murdered, on the bed for the sheet had been removed as yet not laid out, and disfigured and deformed just as she had been found on the moor, in the same misshapen heap of death! One long insane glare one shriek, as if all his heart-strings at once had burst- and then down fell the strong man on the floor like lead. One trial was past which no human hardihood could endure another, and yet another awaits him; but them he will bear as the guilty brave have often borne them, and the most searching eye shall not see him quail at the bar or on the scaffold. They lifted the stricken wretch from the floor, placed him in a chair, and held him upright, till he should revive from the fit. And he soon did revive; for health flowed in all his veins, and he had the strength of a giant. But when his senses returned, there was none to pity him; for the shock had given an expression of guilty horror to all his looks, and, like a man walking in his sleep, under the temptation of some dreadful dream, he moved with fixed eyes towards the bed, gobbled in hideous laughter, and then wept and tore his hair like a distracted woman or child. Then he stooped down as if he would kiss the face, but staggered back, and, covering his eyes with his hands, uttered such a groan as is sometimes heard rending the sinner's breast when the avenging furies are upon him in his dreams. All who heard it felt that he was guilty; and there was a fierce cry through the room of "Make him touch the body, and if he be the murderer, it will bleed!"-"Fear not, Ludovic, to touch it, my boy," said his father; "bleed afresh it will not, for thou art innocent: and savage though now they be who once were proud to be thy friends, even they will believe thee guiltless when the corpse refuses to bear witness against thee, and not a drop leaves its quiet heart!" But his son spake not a word, nor did he seem to know that his father had spoken; but he suffered himself to be led passively towards the bed. One of the bystanders took his hand and placed it on the naked breast, when out of the corners of the teeth-clenched mouth, and out of the swollen nostrils, two or three blooddrops visibly oozed; and a sort of shrieking shout declared the sacred faith of all in the crowd in the dreadful ordeal. "What body is this? 'tis all over blood!" said the prisoner, looking with an idiot vacancy on the faces that surrounded him. But now |