468 A Tale of the Pyrenees. ‘Nov. 
thrust from him, in the direction of the parapet, the ‘stunned body of 
Eguiapal—and rolling and scrambling himself to the same point, com- 
pleted his work by urging him onward with his own legs, whilst with 
his hands he clung to the bars and side-rails of the bridge. A loud 
splash in the waters told of the end of Eguiapal. Etchehon himself, 
exhausted, but triumphant, shouted aloud in that his perilous situation, 
and thanked Heaven that the hour of retribution had at length come. 
His shout was overheard, and by none other than Dominic Etchegogen, 
to whom that bridge had before been so nearly fatal. Coming up at the 
moment, he then witnessed the exultation of Etchehon on the scene of 
his murderous success. He charged him with the deed—he warned him of 
his crime. Convicted now of mortal sin, nothing would save him from 
the vengeance of that law which he had so often outraged. He was 
proceeding to seize the criminal, whilst others were flocking to the spot 
to secure him ; but their intentions were frustrated. Still hanging by 
his arms, and but little supported by the buttress that swelled out 
beneath him, Etchehon suddenly lifted himself upwards, and, bounding 
towards the level of the bridge, effected a secure footing. Then, loudly 
entreating a moment’s pause, he uttered these words :— 
' Friends! I have not offended you willingly: the cause of my error 
lies low beneath those waters. You say that death is at hand for me also: 
you speak truly. If I do not again see my wife, tell her that we may 
meet in heaven, if she now can repent of her cruelties to me. Her good 
is at my heart ; I love her still; I love her for ever. Let my name pass 
away from your traditions, but not from her memory. Bid her weep 
for me, as she will do for the sinner whom she preferred to me. I fol- 
low him !” 
He leaped from the bridge ; and the waters, which were ruffled with 
his fall, soon passed quietly and smoothly over his stiffened nn ! 
VAH. 
MIDNIGHT: A SONNET. 
’Tis Night, deep Night! the moon is up, the stars 
Are watching in the sky, and the quick ear 
Can catch no'sound, save where its lone career 
Through Elle’s* witch cavern, diamonded with spars, 
Rolls the young laughing rill: this is the hour 
For thought, when memory rears the awful ghost 
Of buried youth ; hopes chilled, affections crossed, 
Again, in this new spring, put forth the flower, 
Till the whole heart is softness ;—how serene, 
How chastely cold, yon moon pursues her track 
Through space! her mild but inexpressive mien 
Smiles ali undimmed by sorrow’s rude attack ; 
While man’s sad brow, the sable throne of gloom, 
Is veiled in clouds from childhood to the tomb. £9 
* An old name for the cave of Crerig-cennan, near Llandilo-Vawr, South Wales. . 
a 
