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 cidentally met, as they were searching for another person against whom they bore enmity. In their excited imagination the casual rencounter had the appearance of a providential interference, and they put to death the archbishop, with circumstances of great and cool-blooded cruelty, under the belief, that the Lord, as they expressed it, had delivered him into their hand.

"Horse, horse, and pursue, my lads," exclaimed Cornet Grahame; "the murdering dog's head is worth its weight in gold."