"Yes, Forrester," continued Matilda, in the same impassioned voice, "we meet again, and mark you," pulling back the disguise from Gerald, "'tis no vile slave, no sable paramour by whose hand you die, villain," she pursued, her voice trembling with excitement--"my own arm should have done the deed, but that he whose service I have purchased with the hand you rejected and despised, once baulked me of my vengeance when I had deemed it most secure. But enough! To his heart, Gerald, now that in the fulness of his wine and his ambition, he may the deeper feel the sting of death--strike to his heart--what! do you falter--do you turn coward?" Gerald neither moved nor spoke; his upraised hand had sunk at his side at the first address of Matilda to her enemy, and the dagger had fallen from his hand upon the sward, where it might be seen glittering in the rays of the pale moon. His head was bent upon his chest in abject shame, and he seemed as one who had suddenly been turned to stone. "Gerald, my husband!" urged Matilda, rapidly changing her tone into that of earnest persuasion, "wherefore do you hesitate? Am I not your wife, your own wife, and is not yon monster the wretch who has consigned my fair fame to obloquy for ever--Gerald!" she added, impetuously. But the spell had lost its power, and Gerald continued immoveable--apparently fixed to the spot on which he stood. "Gerald, Gerald!" repeated the officer, with the air of one endeavoring to recollect. At the sound of that voice Gerald looked up. The moon was at that moment unobscured by a single cloud, and as the eyes of the murderer and his intended victim met, their recognition was mutual and perfect. "I had never expected to see Lieutenant Grantham figuring in the character of an assassin," said Colonel Forrester, in a voice of deep and bitter reproach, "still less to find his arm raised against the preserver of his life. This," he continued, as if speaking to himself, "will be a bitter tale to recount to his family." "Almighty God, have mercy!" exclaimed Gerald as, overcome with shame and misery, he threw himself upon the earth at its full length, his head nearly touching the feet of the officer. Then clasping his feet--"Oh, Colonel Forrester, lost, degraded as I am, believe me when I swear that I knew not against whom my arm was to be directed. Nay, that you live at this moment is the best evidence of the truth of what I utter, for I came with a heart made up to murder. But _your_ blood worlds could not tempt me to spill."