“Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. Drink, and no sustaining food. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. 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.
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