The anxious eyes of the whole party were fastened on the boy for many moments, witnessing the sudden change from careless freedom to deep horror expressed in his countenance. At length he uttered in an undertone the secret of Dillon's fate. “He is dead.” “Dead!” repeated every voice in the room. “Yes, dead!” said the boy, gazing at the pallid faces of those who surrounded him. A long and fearful silence succeeded the announcement of this intelligence, which was only interrupted by Griffith, who said: “Explain the manner of his death, sir, and where his body lies.” “His body lies interred in the sands,” returned Merry, with a deliberation that proceeded from an opening perception that, if he uttered too much, he might betray the loss of the Ariel, and, consequently, endanger the liberty of Barnstable. “In the sands?” was echoed from every part of the room. “Ay, in the sands; but how he died, I cannot explain.” “He has been murdered!” exclaimed Colonel Howard, whose command of utterance was now amply restored to him; “he has been treacherously, and dastardly, and basely murdered!” “He has _not_ been murdered,” said the boy, firmly; “nor did he meet his death among those who deserve the name either of traitors or of dastards.” “Said you not that he was dead? that my kinsman was buried in the sands of the seashore?” “Both are true, sir--” “And you refuse to explain how he met his death, and why he has been thus ignominiously interred?” “He received his interment by my orders, sir; and if there be ignominy about his grave, his own acts have heaped it on him. As to the manner of his death, I cannot, and will not speak.” “Be calm, my cousin,” said Cecilia, in an imploring voice; “respect the age of my uncle, and remember his strong attachment to Mr. Dillon.” The veteran had, however, so far mastered his feelings, as to continue the dialogue with more recollection. “Mr. Griffith,” he said, “I shall not act hastily--you and your companions will be pleased to retire to your several apartments. I will so far respect the son of my brother Harry's friend as to believe your parole will be sacred. Go, gentlemen; you are unguarded.” The two prisoners bowed low to the ladies and their host, and retired. Griffith, however, lingered a moment on the threshold, to say: “Colonel Howard, I leave the boy to your kindness and consideration. I know you will not forget that his blood mingles with that of one who is most dear to you.” “Enough, enough, sir,” said the veteran, waving his hand to him to retire: “and you, ladies; this is not a place for you, either.” “Never will I quit this child,” said Katherine, “while such a horrid imputation lies on him. Colonel Howard, act your pleasure on us both, for I suppose you have the power; but his fate shall be my fate.”