They reached the point proposed in due season. Their victim had not yet made his appearance, and they had sufficient time for all their arrangements. The place was one well calculated for the successful accomplishment of a deed of darkness. The road at the foot of the hill narrowed into a path scarcely wide enough for the passage of a single horseman. The shrubbery and copse on either side overhung it, and in many places were so thickly interwoven, that when, as at intervals of the night, the moon shone out among the thick and broken clouds which hung upon and mostly obscured her course, her scattered rays scarcely penetrated the dense enclosure. At length the horseman approached, and in silence. Descending the hill, his motion was slow and tedious. He entered the fatal avenue; and, when in the midst of it, Rivers started from the side of his comrade, and, advancing under the shelter of a tree, awaited his progress. He came--no word was spoken--a single stroke was given, and the horseman, throwing up his hands, grasped the limb which projected over, while his horse passed from under him. He held on for a moment to the branch, while a groan of deepest agony broke from his lips, when he fell supine to the ground. At that moment, the moon shone forth unimpeded and unobscured by a single cloud. The person of the wounded man was fully apparent to the sight. He struggled, but spoke not; and the hand of Rivers was again uplifted, when Munro rushed forward. "Stay--away, Guy!--we are mistaken--this is not our man!" The victim heard the words, and, with something like an effort at a laugh, though seemingly in great agony, exclaimed-- "Ah, Munro, is that you?--I am so glad! but I'm afraid you come too late. This is a cruel blow; and--for what? What have I done to you, that--oh!--" The tones of the voice--the person of the suffering man--were now readily distinguishable. "Good God! Rivers, what is to be the end of all this blundering?" "Who would have thought to find _him_ here?" was the ferocious answer; the disappointed malice of the speaker prompting him to the bitterest feelings against the unintended victim--"why was he in the way? he is always in the way!" "I am afraid you've done for him." "We must be sure of it." "Great God! would you kill him?" "Why not? It must be done now." The wounded man beheld the action of the speaker, and heard the discussion. He gasped out a prayer for life:-- "Spare me, Guy! Save me, Wat, if you have a man's heart in your bosom. Save me! spare me! I would live! I--oh, spare me!" And the dying man threw up his hands feebly, in order to avert the blow; but it was in vain. Munro would have interposed, but, this time, the murderer was too quick for him, if not too strong. With a sudden rush he flung his associate aside, stooped down, and smote--smote fatally. "Kate!--ah!--O God, have mercy!"