'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.
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