At that moment, the moon shone forth unimpeded and unobscured by a single cloud.

The person of the wounded man was fully apparent to the sight.

He struggled, but spoke not; and the hand of Rivers was again uplifted, when Munro rushed forward.
"Stay--away, Guy!--we are mistaken--this is not our man!" The victim heard the words, and, with something like an effort at a laugh, though seemingly in great agony, exclaimed-- "Ah, Munro, is that you ?--I am so glad! but I'm afraid you come too late.

This is a cruel blow; and--for what?
What have I done to you, that--oh!--" The tones of the voice--the person of the suffering man--were now readily distinguishable.
"Good God! Rivers, what is to be the end of all this blundering ?" "Who would have thought to find _him_ here ?" was the ferocious answer; the disappointed malice of the speaker prompting him to the bitterest feelings against the unintended victim--"why was he in the way?
he is always in the way!" "I am afraid you've done for him." "We must be sure of it." "Great God! would you kill him ?" "Why not?
It must be done now." The wounded man beheld the action of the speaker, and heard the discussion.

He gasped out a prayer for life:-- "Spare me, Guy! Save me, Wat, if you have a man's heart in your bosom.
Save me! spare me! I would live! I--oh, spare me!" And the dying man threw up his hands feebly, in order to avert the blow; but it was in vain.