and some future day that song will produce another avenger of the blood of his ancestors." With eyes full of tears, Alf leant against the bar of the window, and fixed his anxious look upon the tower; as if he wished yet to feast his eye with the beloved view, which he was about to lose forever. He clasped Halban in his arms, and their sighs were blended in the last, long, and mute embrace.
Now the clang of steel was heard at the door; the bolts burst, the assailants rushed in, and called Alf by his name. "Traitor! thy head shall fall to day under the axe; repent of thy sins and prepare for death. Here is the old chaplain of the Order; purify thy soul and die at least like a Christian." Sword in hand Alf waited for the encounter; but he grew pale and weak; he staggered,
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