“Where is the cell?” demanded Millthorpe.
“He seeks an interview with the last prisoner,” explained the second officer.
“Kill ’em both with one stone, then,” wheezed the turnkey, gratingly throwing open the door of the cell. “There’s his pretty parlor, gentlemen; step in. Reg’lar mouse-hole, arn’t it?—Might hear a rabbit burrow on the world’s t’other side;—are they all ’sleep?”
“I stumble!” cried Fred, from within; “Lucy! A light! a light!—Lucy!” And he wildly groped about the cell, and blindly caught Millthorpe, who was also wildly groping.
“Blister me not! take off thy bloody touch!—Ho, ho, the light!—Lucy! Lucy!—she’s fainted!”
Then both stumbled again, and fell from each other in the cell: and for a moment all seemed still, as though all breaths were held.
As the light was now thrust in, Fred was seen on the floor holding his sister in his arms; and Millthorpe kneeling by the side of Pierre, the unresponsive hand in his; while Isabel, feebly moving, reclined between, against the wall.
“Yes! Yes!—Dead! Dead! Dead!—without one visible wound—her sweet plumage hides it.—Thou hellish carrion, this is thy hellish work! Thy juggler’s rifle brought down this heavenly bird! Oh, my God, my God! Thou scalpest me with this sight!”
“The dark vein’s burst, and here’s the deluge-wreck—all stranded here! Ah, Pierre! my old companion, Pierre;—school-mate—play-mate—friend!—Our sweet boy’s walks within the woods!—Oh, I would have rallied thee, and banteringly warned thee from thy too moody ways, but thou wouldst never heed! What scornful innocence rests on thy lips, my friend!—Hand scorched with murderer’s powder, yet how woman-soft!—By heaven, these fingers move!—one speechless clasp!—all’s o’er!”
“All’s o’er, and ye know him not!” came gasping from the wall; and from the fingers of Isabel dropped an empty vial—as it had been a run-out sand-glass—and shivered upon the floor; and her whole form sloped sideways, and she fell upon Pierre’s heart, and her long hair ran over him, and arbored him in ebon vines.