"Nothing," she slowly repeated, "nothing. I saw him, but it was too late to speak those words of comfort."
"Too late?" iterated Hunston, eagerly, "too late?"
"Ah, too late for words of comfort, for menaces, or for any thing."
"Surely you do not mean—"
He could not complete the sentence, but she helped him out—
"I do," she said, in a hollow voice, and nodding her head gravely, "I do mean that he, Mathias, the brigand chief is dead!"
The brigands, one and all, leaped to their feet, snatching up their carbines, while from their throats issued a deep cry of revenge.
Dead! The word thrilled them one and all with horror.
The bold Mathias dead!
Prepared as they had been by her manner for some dire Calamity, it came upon them like a thunderclap. The awful calm manner of the chieftain's widow impressed them more than if she had thrown up her hands in wild despair and given way to the noisiest demonstrations of woe.