. His beautiful black hair had been shorn away
at the temples to permit his wound to be dressed, and his head was
enveloped in bandages, stained in many places with blood; his face was
pale as death, save a bright hectic spot in the centre of each cheek,
fatal evidence of the inward fever which was consuming him. His
classical features, already pinched and shrunken, their paleness
enhanced by contrast with his black whiskers, were fixed and rigid
as those of a corpse; while his eyes, which burned with an unnatural
brilliancy, glared on us with an expression of mingled hate and terror.
He seemed partially to recognise me, for, after watching me for a
moment, his lips working convulsively, as if striving to form articulate
sounds, he exclaimed in a low hoarse voice:--

"Ha! on the scent already! The staid sober lover--let him take care the
pretty Clara does not jilt him. _I_ know where she is?--not I--that's a
question you must demand of Mr. Cumberland, sir. I beg your pardon,
did you say you doubted my word?--I have the honour to wish you
good-morning--my friend will call upon you. What! Lizzy Maurice! who
dares to say I wronged her?--'tis false. Take that old man away, with
his grey hair--why does he torment me?--I tell you the girl's safe,
thanks to--to--my head's confused--the 'long man,' as Curtis calls him,
Harry Oaklands, handsome Harry Oak-lands. What did I hear you
mutter? that he horsewhipped me?--and if he did, there was a day of
retribution--ha! ha!--Sir, I shot him for it; shot him like a dog--I
hated him, and he perished--the strong man died--died! and what
then?--what becomes of dead men? A long-faced fool said I was dying,
just now--he thought I didn't hear him--I not hear an insult! and I
consider that one--I'll have him out for it--I'll"--and he endeavoured
to raise himself, but was scarcely able to lift his head from the
pillow, and sank back with a groan of anguish. After a moment he spoke
again, in a low, plaintive voice, "I am very ill, very weak--send for
her--she will come--oh yes, she will come, for she loves me; she knows
my fiery nature--knows my vices, as men call them, and yet she loves
me--the only one who ever did--send for her--she will come, it is her
son who wishes for her". Then, in a tone of the fondest endearment he
continued, "_Lucia, bella madre, il tuo figlio tia chiama_".

"He has been speaking Italian for some time," observed the surgeon in a
whisper.

~466~~ "That man Spicer t