‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy. ‘I ain’t done nothing wrong, I swear it. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. ” Sir John’s head bent lower and lower. The will to live had returned. 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. He had heard this talk before. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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