Do you think that I shall ever make an actress, my friend?” “I doubt it,” he answered bluntly. 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. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “In it lies the secret poison he used to turn you into an Oracle. I owe his mother one, and will repay the debt, with interest, to her son. Try and let him never regret it.
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