At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,—the floor deluged with blood,—various articles of furniture upset,—papers scattered about,—the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,—his hat, crushed and similarly stained,—his sword,—the ensanguined cloth,—with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement. Her English was halting. The boy was right. Ruth hugged the envelope and McClintock, with the end of a burnt match, drew a cabalistic sign. My heart cannot take it. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion.
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