It was dark, save some pale moonlight from the window; and
the ruffian, after firing a pistol without effect, and fighting a
traverse or two with his sword, lost heart, made for the window,
leaped over it, and escaped. Nigel fired his remaining pistol after
him at a venture, and then called for light.
"There is light in the kitchen," answered Martha Trapbois, with more
presence of mind than could have been expected. "Stay, you know not
the way; I will fetch it myself.--Oh! my father--my poor father!--I
knew it would come to this--and all along of the accursed gold!--They
have _murdered_ him!"
CHAPTER XXV
Death finds us 'mid our playthings--snatches us,
As a cross nurse might do a wayward child,
From all our toys and baubles. His rough call
Unlooses all our favourite ties on earth;
And well if they are such as may be answer'd
In yonder world, where all is judged of truly.
_Old Play_.
It was a ghastly scene which opened, upon Martha Trapbois's return
with a light. Her own haggard and austere features were exaggerated by
all the desperation of grief, fear, and passion--but the latter was
predominant. On the floor lay the body of the robber, who had expired
without a groan, while his blood, flowing plentifully, had crimsoned
all around. Another body lay also there, on which the unfortunate
woman precipitated herself in agony, for it was that of her unhappy
father.
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