with a wild impatience, redoubling meanwhile those cries for help which
had brought the locksmith to the spot.

'What's here to do?' said the old man, alighting. 'How's
this--what--Barnaby?'

The bearer of the torch shook his long loose hair back from his eyes,
and thrusting his face eagerly into that of the locksmith, fixed upon
him a look which told his history at once.

'You know me, Barnaby?' said Varden.

He nodded--not once or twice, but a score of times, and that with a
fantastic exaggeration which would have kept his head in motion for
an hour, but that the locksmith held up his finger, and fixing his eye
sternly upon him caused him to desist; then pointed to the body with an
inquiring look.

'There's blood upon him,' said Barnaby with a shudder. 'It makes me
sick!'

'How came it there?' demanded Varden.

'Steel, steel, steel!' he replied fiercely, imitating with his hand the
thrust of a sword.

'Is he robbed?' said the locksmith.

Barnaby caught him by the arm, and nodded 'Yes;' then pointed towards
the city.

'Oh!' said the old man, bending over the body and looking round as he
spoke into Barnaby's pale face, strangely lighted up by something that
was NOT intellect. 'The robber made off that way, did he? Well, well,
never mind that just now. Hold your torch this way--a little farther
off--so. Now stand quiet, while I try to see what harm is done.'

With these words, he applied himself to a closer examination of
the prostrate form, while Barnaby, holding the torch as he had been
directed, looked on in silence, fascinated by interest or curiosity, but
repelled nevertheless by some strong and secret horror which convulsed
him in every nerve.

As he stood, at that moment, half shrinking back and half bending
forward, both his face and figure were full in the strong glare of the
link, and as distinctly revealed as though it had been broad day. He
was about three-and-twenty years old, and though rather spare, of a fair
height and strong make. His hair, of which he had a great profusion, was
red, and hanging in disorder about his face and shoulders, gave to his
restless looks an expression quite unearthly--enhanced by the paleness
of his complexion, and the glassy lustre of his large protruding eyes.
Startling as his aspect was, the features were good, and there was
something even plaintive in his wan and haggard aspect. But, the absence
of the soul is far more terrible in a living man than in a dead