“Too many for me! I’ve smashed him!”
“Very good,” said Bond, resuming his pipe with an air of great composure.
In the meanwhile Learmont was lighted by his wondering domestics to his own chamber. They had never before this seen him in such a state of physical prostration; and, but that they were in too great fear of his violence to offer him even a kindness they would have assisted him up the staircase, for they saw that he was scarcely capable of ascending alone, and had to clutch to the banisters nervously for support.
When he reached his chamber, he sank into a chair, and after a few moments, he said,—
“More lights—more lights! Let me have more lights here. The place is dark.“
One of the servants lit the wax candles which were in silver sconces on the mantel-shelf, and then humbly inquire if his worship had any further orders to give.
“None—none!” said Learmont. “None! Why do you stare at me so? Is—is there blood upon me? How dare you look upon me with eyes of suspicion?”
The servants looked at each other in surprise and terror, and slowly slunk to the door.
“Let me have wine—wine!” cried Learmont. “Wine to give me new blood, for, by the God of heaven, what I have is freezing in my veins. Wine—wine, I say!”
They brought him wine, and a massive silver goblet to drink it from; but when they did so, they found him resting his head upon the table, and apparently half-asleep, for he was moaning occasionally, and muttering the words,—