“Is he--” I dared not speak the word as I looked on the still motionless body that lay before me. Darby raised one arm, and as he let it go, it fell heavily on the ground. He stooped down, and placing his lips near the mouth, endeavored to ascertain if he breathed; and then, jumping to his feet, he seized my arm, and, in a tone I shall never forget, he said, “It 's over now!” I tottered back as he spoke. The horrible thought of murder,--the frightful sense of crime, the heaviest, the blackest that can stain the heart of man,--stunned me. My senses reeled; and as I looked on that corpse stretched at my feet, I would have suffered my every bone to be broken on the rack, to see one quiver of life animate its rigid members. Meanwhile Darby was kneeling down, and seemed to search for something beside the body. “Ah! right! Come now,” said he; “we must be far from this before daybreak. And it 's lucky if we We the means to do it.” I moved onward like one walking ib a dream when horrible images surround him and dreadful thoughts are ever crowding fast; but where, amid all, some glimmering sense of hope sustains him, and he half feels that the terrors will pass away, and his soul be calm and tranquil once more. What is it? what has happened? was the ever-rising question, as I heard Darby groping his way along the dark gallery and the darker stairs. “Be steady, now,” said he, in a whisper; “we 're at the gate.” “Who comes there?” cried the sentry. “A friend!” said Darby, in a feigned voice, answering for me, while he dropped behind me. The heavy bolts were withdrawn, and I felt the cold air of the streets on my cheek. “Where to, now?” said I, with a dreamy oonsciousness that some place of safety must be sought, without well knowing why or wherefore. “Lean on me, and don't speak,” said Darby. “If you can walk as far as the end of the quay, we 're all safe.” I walked on without further questioning, and almost without thought; and though, from time to time, Darby spoke to several persons as we passed, I heard not what they said, nor took any notice of them. CHAPTER XX. THE FLIGHT “Are ye getting weak?” said Darby, as I staggered heavily against him, and gasped twice or thrice for breath. “Are ye bleeding still?” was his next question, while he passed his hand gently within the sash, and felt my wound. I endeavored to mutter something in reply, to which he paid no attention; but stooping down, he threw me across his shoulder, and darting off at a more rapid pace than before, he left the more frequented thoroughfare, and entered a narrow and gloomy alley, unlighted by a single lamp. As he hurried onward, he stopped more than once, as if in quest of some particular spot, but which in the darkness he was unable to detect.