"And do you bethink you what laid him there?"
"His humanity and his noble heart."
"He died," said Oran Gilbert—"he died that a villain might live; and you call that villain 'my countryman and brother!'"
"No," said Hyland, with some of his wild brother's spirit; "I except him."
"Then look to the left," continued Oran, with a glance of painful humiliation: "on the brook, and in a little bower, there is a second grave."
"It is the grave of my poor wronged sister!" cried Hyland, impetuously.
"Of your sister, and of ——. Ha, ha! Is not this a merry subject for two brothers to talk on! 'My countryman and brother' destroyed her and fled."
"May heaven pardon him," cried Hyland; "but I cannot."
"We buried her in secret, and in night, that none might look upon her shame, or upon ours," said the refugee; "and that night came into the world her brother, whom we called Hyland, that we might better remember her destroyer."
"Oran! Oran!"