It so happened that he was armed. Delancey had made him a present of a brace of pocket pistols, during the days of their friendship; and, very much to Sir Henry's annoyance, George had been in the habit, since leaving Malta, of constantly carrying these about him. He strode on without adventure, until entering the field of rye. The pathway became very narrow--so that on either side him, he grazed against the bearded ears. Suddenly he heard a rustling sound. The moon at the moment broke from a dark cloud, and he fancied he discerned a figure near him half hid by the rye. Again the moon was shrouded. A rustling again ensued. George felt a ponderous blow, which, aimed at the left shoulder, struck his left arm. The collar of his coat was instantaneously grasped. For a moment, George Delmé felt irresolute--then drew a pistol from his pocket and fired. The hold was loosened--a man fell at his feet. The pistol's flash revealed another figure, which diving into the corn--fled precipitately. Let us turn to Sir Henry Delmé and to Thompson. For some time after George's departure, they were busily engaged in preparing supper. While they were thus occupied, they noticed that the Papal soldiers whispered much together--but this gave rise to no suspicion on their part. One by one the soldiers strolled out, and the landlord betook himself to the kitchen. The punch was duly made, and Sir Henry, leaving the room, paced thoughtfully in front of the inn. At length it struck him, that it was almost time for his brother to return. He was entering the inn, for the purpose of making some enquiries; when he saw one of the soldiers cross the road hurriedly, and go into the courtyard, where he was immediately joined by the vetturino. Delmé turned in to the house, and called for the landlord. Before the latter could appear, George rushed into the room. His hat was off--his eyes glared wildly--his long hair streamed back, wet with the dews of night. He dragged with him the body of one of the soldiers; and threw it with supernatural strength into the very centre of the room. "Supper!" said he, "ha, ha, ha! _I_ have brought you supper!" The man was quite dead. The bullet had pierced his neck and throat. The blood was yet flowing, and had dabbled the white vest. His beard and hair were clotted with gore. Shocked as Sir Henry was, the truth flashed on him. He lost not a moment in beckoning to Thompson, and rushing towards the stable. The driver was still there, conversing with the soldier. As Sir Henry approached, they evinced involuntary confusion; and the vetturino---at once unmanned--fell on his knees, and commenced a confession. They were dragged into the inn, and the officers of justice were sent for. Sir Henry Delmé's anxious regards were now directed to his brother. George had taken a seat near the corpse; and was sternly regarding it with fixed, steady, and unflinching gaze.