And going close to the prisoner he lifted the miniature and scrutinised it intently, then began to pour out a flood of ribald comment. Beside himself with rage and disgust, Gabriel in vain struggled to get free, but he could neither silence his tormentors nor shut his own ears to the foul words which sought to pollute all that he held most sacred. With cruel delight, Norton, as he held the miniature, could feel the throbbing of his victim’s heart, but he was startled when at length Gabriel’s voice was heard. It was low and faint, yet there was a vibration in it which rang through the church, and a note of appeal in its tone which arrested the Colonel against his will. “God!” cried the tortured man, “deliver us from evil.” Lord Harry burst into a roar of semi-drunken laughter. “Ay, preach and pray, my canting Puritan!” he cried. But Norton let the miniature fall once more on Gabriel’s heaving breast, and with an expression of bewildered surprise moved back a pace or two, still, however, keenly watching his victim’s face. The fellow had such an extraordinary air of expecting to be delivered; and it suddenly occurred to Norton that it was not deliverance from pain that he looked for, but from something he deemed infinitely worse. For the first time he understood that this man hated evil, that he asked for deliverance from the vile imaginings, the foul suggestions that had been forced upon him. For a minute the sense of shame which had come to the Colonel as he read the letter to Hilary Unett gave him a second twinge of pain; for he recollected that the strange cry for help had not been “Deliver me,” but “Deliver us.” It was with a start of superstitious fear that he saw a flickering light moving along through the fast darkening church. Gabriel noticed nothing, for his eyes had closed, his head had dropped forward. As it drew nearer Norton saw with relief that the light came from the lantern which the Irish sentry had just kindled. “Did you call me, sir?” said the man, approaching as if in response to a summons. “No, I did not,” said Norton, irritably. The man saluted and was about to retire, when he caught sight of Gabriel bound to the pillar, his head drooped on his breast, his frame hanging lifeless, supported only by the cords. The Irishman’s eyes widened, he crossed himself rapidly. “The prisoner!” he stammered. “Why--yer honour--sure then he’s a dead man!” “Hold the light nearer!” said Norton sharply, and with an uneasiness he could not have explained he put his ear to the heart that was now strangely still, though but a few minutes ago he had felt it throbbing with passionate indignation. CHAPTER XIX. Faith can raise earth to heaven, or draw down Heaven to earth, make both extremes to meet, Felicity and misery, can crown Reproach with honour, season sour with sweet. Nothing’s impossible to Faith: a man