'A single shot to make sure!' said one, cocking his long brass pistol. 'Not one!' cried Guebhard, imperatively; 'I hear cavalry moving through the wood--perhaps those we might be sorry to meet. He lies still enough--some of our balls must have hit him--I saw blood in the room.' That was the case certainly; but it was blood from the wounds of some of his own followers. 'Hark!' he added, as the sound of a cavalry trumpet was heard close by; 'here are shovels--cover him up--and when the horse are past, we can return and get what we want, at leisure.' Cecil heard all this; he never stirred--scarcely breathed; and now he felt shovelful after shovelful of earth thrown upon him, cold, damp, and moist, as they proceeded, not to bury, but merely to cover him up, with the intention of concealing, as they thought, the dead body for a brief space. No groan, no sigh, no sound, escaped him, while this horrible process went on; yet he felt a horror and dismay no language can depict, as he knew not how much soil they might heap upon him. Unseen, or unnoticed by them, he eventually felt himself compelled to move his head, lest his face should be covered as completely as his body was; and then suffocation would ensue. At last a great mass was shovelled in; his head was entirely concealed, and then Guebhard and his Montenegrins withdrew from the spot. END OF VOL. II. BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS AND ELECTROTYPERS, GUILDFORD. _J. W. & Sons._