'It is a sad--sad tragedy this of ours,' said the old lady, folding Mary to her breast; 'but, my darling pet--it may be some mistake; let us pray that it is so, and that light may come out of the darkness yet.' 'This is torture upon torture. O my God--is life worth living?' wailed Mary in her heart, asking unconsciously the question of a brilliant essayist. CHAPTER XI. A DARK PREDICTION. It is perhaps impossible to describe adequately all that passed with the speed of thought through Cecil's mind when the group of Servian officials approached the room in which he was confined. He had heard the drums beaten at sunset, and somehow deemed the falling in of the pickets--though a usual circumstance--a prelude, perhaps, to his own execution, or a hopeless and degrading transmission to some fortress, he knew not where; and where, too probably, he would never be heard of again, but pass through life chained to a heavy shot, with a number painted on his canvas caftan. Well, death, however sudden, was better than such a fate! For a moment or two his blood had stood still as the comers drew near, and the noise of their swords and spurs was heard on the stair. The unlocking of the door found an echo in his heart. He nerved himself, with a prayer on his lips, to hear the worst they had to tell him--desperation and resignation curiously mingling in his mind. 'Oh why,' he muttered, 'are we born--why do we live only to endure, to suffer, and to die?' Then he thought of the poor girl who shrunk close to him in her disguise, and a great fear for her was added to his own agony of soul. Thus, he was rather surprised to find himself politely saluted by the minister of police, by Count Palenka, and the provost-marshal, both of whom had been so severe and sharp with him when last he saw them. 'Herr Lieutenant,' said the deputy minister of police, 'we have the pleasure of announcing to you that you are a free man--free without a stain upon your honour, and may, when you choose, return to your post.' 'His Excellency General Tchernaieff has commissioned me personally to restore to you your sword, which I do with profound pleasure,' said Count Palenka, advancing in turn, and handing to the bewildered Cecil his sword and waist-belt. 'To what do I owe this change in my affairs?' he asked in an unsteady voice, as if unable to realise the situation. 'The discovery of the true character of that villain, Mattei Guebhard!' replied Palenka. 'Guebhard--who has now deserted to the Turks, and for whose head the King now offers a reward of a thousand ducats,' added the police official. 'And when was this discovery made?' 'At noon to-day, Herr Lieutenant.' 'By whom?'