"Tiger!--monster!" she raved, "restore my brother!--give
me back the gentle life you have taken, or destroy my
own! See, I am a weak defenceless girl: can you not
strike?--you who have no pity for the innocent. But
come," she pursued, mournfully, regaining her feet and
grasping his iron hand,--"come and see the sweet calm
face of him you have slain:--come with me, and behold
the image of Clara Beverley; and, if you ever loved her
as you say you did, let your soul be touched with remorse
for your crime."
The excitement and confusion produced by this unexpected
interruption was great. Murmurs of compassion for the
unhappy Clara, and of indignation against the prisoner,
were no longer sought to be repressed by the men; while
the officers, quitting their places in the ranks, grouped
themselves indiscriminately in the foreground. One, more
impatient than his companions, sprang forward, and forcibly
drew away the delicate, hand that still grasped that of
the captive. It was Sir Everard Valletort.
"Clara, my beloved wife!" he exclaimed, to the astonishment
of all who heard him, "pollute not your lips by further
communion with such a wretch; his heart is as inaccessible
to pity as the rugged rocks on which his spring-life was
passed.
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