Suddenly, she heard the crunch of new feet on the gravel. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. 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. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries.
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