So saying, he led his doomed companion close to the ancient wall, then he paused and listened attentively, in case any one should be within hearing; all was as still as the grave—not the most distant sound indicative of human life, met his ears.
“He must die!” muttered Learmont.
“You may say it’s cold,” remarked Sheldon; “w—w—what are you waiting for—
“Ha! Ha! Ha! Who would not drink
When, the cup is brimming over,
Be it Rhenish—be it—sack—
Or burning old—Oc—Oc—October!
“that’s a—b—b—brave song—a ex—extraordinary brave song—a—w—w—wonderful song.”
Learmont laid his hand on his sword as he said—
“There is more light now, Master Sheldon. Look at me.”