The soldiers had informed him of his cousin's death, and now the murder of the wheelwright brought his happiness to a climax.

He awaited the shot with that delight which the sufferings of others always afforded him--a delight increased tenfold by the horror of the scene, and a feeling of exquisite fear.
Silvere, on recognising that vile scamp's head all by itself above the wall--that pale grinning face, with hair standing on end--experienced a feeling of fierce rage, a sudden desire to live.

It was the last revolt of his blood--a momentary mutiny.

He again sank down on his knees, gazing straight before him.

A last vision passed before his eyes in the melancholy twilight.