Learmont suddenly turned his back upon Sheldon, and casting an anxious glance around him to satisfy himself that they were still alone, he suddenly drew his sword and faced the trembling man.
“Mercy! mercy!” cried Sheldon, dropping on his knees.
“Idiot!” cried Learmont, “you are in my way. Curses on your worthless life!”
“Oh, God, mercy!” cried the man.
Learmont shortened his arm, and plunged his sword through the body of the defenceless man.
With a wild shriek that rung through the Bishop’s walk, Sheldon sprang from his knees; he grasped wildly at the air, and spun round and round in his frantic efforts to stand.
“Help! Help! Murder!” he shrieked.
“Damnation!” cried Learmont, and again he passed his reeking sword through the heaving chest of Sheldon.
Again the wounded man tried to speak, but a low gurgling sound in his throat was all he could produce, and he fell with a deep groan at the feet of the murderer.