" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. . Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. 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. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. .
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