The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

WOODSTOCK. 275
form an outward and an inward ring of sentinels, but give no alarm until I
come. Should any attempt to escape, KILL them."-IIe spoke that command
with terrible emphasis.-" Kill them on the spot," he repeated, "be they
who or what they will. Better so than trouble the Commonwealth with
prisoners."
Pearson heard, and proceeded to obey his commander's orders.
Meanwhile, the future Protector disposed the small force which remained
with him in such a manner that they should approach from different points
at once the light which excited his suspicions, and gave them orders to creep
as near to it as they could, taking care not to lose each other's support, and
to be ready to rush in at the same moment, when he should give the sign,
which was to be a loud whistle. Anxious to ascertain the truth with his
own eyes, Cromwell, who had by instinct all the habits of military foresight, which, in others, are the result of professional education and long experience, advanced upon the object of his curiosity. He skulked from tree
to tree with the light step and prowling sagacity of an Indian bush-fighter;
and before any of his men had approached so near as to descry them, he
saw, by the lantern which was placed on the ground, two men, who had
been engaged in digging what seemed to be an ill-made grave. Near them
lay extended something wrapped in a deer's hide, which greatly resembled
the dead body of a man. They spoke together in a low voice, yet so that
their dangerous auditor could perfectly overhear what they said.
" It is done at last," said one; " the worst and hardest labour I ever did
in my life. I believe there is no luck about me left. My very arms feel
as if they did not belong to me; and, strange to tell, toil as hard as I would,
I could not gather warmth in my limbs."
"I have warmed me enough," said Rochecliffe, breathing short with
fatigue.
" But the cold lies at my heart," said Joceline; " I scarce hope ever to be
warm again. It is strange, and a charm seems to be on us. Here have we
been nigh two hours in doing what Diggon the sexton would have done to
better purpose in half a one."
" We are wretched spadesmen enough," answered Dr. Rochecliffe.
"Every man to his tools -thou to thy bugle-horn, and I to my papers in
cipher. -But do not be discouraged; it is the frost on the ground, and the
number of roots, which rendered our task difficult. And now, all due rites
done to this unhappy man, and having read over him the service of the
Church, valeat quantum, let us lay him decently in this place of last repose;
there will be small lack of him above ground. So cheer up thy heart, man,
like a soldier as thou art; we have read the service over his body; and
should times permit it, we will have him removed to consecrated ground,
though he is all unworthy of such favour. Here, help me to lay him in the
earth; we will drag briers and thorns over the spot, when we have shovelled
dust upon dust; and do thou think of this chance more manfully; and
remember, thy secret is in thine own keeping."
" I cannot answer for that," said Joceline. "Methinks the very night
winds among the leaves will tell of what we have been doing-methinks the
trees themselves will say,' there is a dead corpse lies among our roots.'
Witnesses are soon found when blood hath been spilled."
" They are so, and that right early," exclaimed Cromwell, starting from
the thicket, laying hold on Joceline, and putting a pistol to his head. At
any other period of his life, the forester would, even against the odds of
numbers, have made a desperate resistance; but the horror he had felt at
the slaughter of an old companion, although in defence of his own life,
together with fatigue and surprise, had altogether unmanned him, and he
was seized as easily as a sheep is secured by the butcher. Dr. Rochecliffe
offered some resistance, but was presently secured by the soldiers who
pressed around him.