"Luigi," said Bill, "ay, ay,—his den, and so it is—but sma' harm could he do now, though folk knew what he could do this forenoon!"
"Then you are implicated in the dreadful murder of my friends. I passed the place and saw the horrid relics; there were many bodies there; the fight must have been a sharp one."
"A hard one it was," said the old man, "albeit I didna see it—your friend was betrayed, your own gear plundered! The collieshangie[G] was a fearful one our men say. The younger of the gentlemen made a stand—he was soon done for, and then the Vardarelli, d—n 'em, fought for the lassie. Adrian gave Luigi a stab with his knife that did the business for him, and rode away with the wench, devil knows where. Luigi, that's the captain, sughed awa', and he lies in yon box," pointing to the coffin.
"Wretched man! is he gone to his account? He was a true ruffian, and this Adrian has escaped! but whose were all the other bodies?"
"Aweel, I'll tell you—whilst these two fought like game cocks, a fleet of those cussed sbirri hove in sight, and would have overhauled 'em, but the Skipper gave 'em warning—they fought like born fiends, deil a ane of the sbirri cleared away, but the Skipper died!"
"A good riddance I think; but how does this concern me, save that I hear my friends were cruelly murdered, my property plundered, and the miscreant who did it is dead?"
"Lift up yon cloth, and take a look at the dead man," said Bill, with a cruel smile.
The Earl rose: he approached the table, and first lifting the swords off, then pushed aside the pall, disclosing a very handsome coffin elaborately ornamented in inlaid silver, being itself formed of polished black wood, probably ebony. Folding the pall he placed it aside, and then proceeded to raise the lid, which was as yet unscrewed. A man in full brigand dress, or rather what was once a man, lay there—cold, motionless! A white handkerchief was spread over the features. The Earl paused—Luigi was certainly a fine specimen he thought; upwards of six feet in length, and proportionally broad, his tall figure was peculiarly well set off by the dress he wore—the black jacket, with trimmings of silver, the scarlet sash in which still were confined his pistols, and stilettos, black velvet breeches, and black leather buskins; his arms were folded across his breast, and so lifelike did the dead man seem, that the Earl paused a moment, half suspecting that the figure would leap up, and end the play by confronting him, and daring him to single combat. Bill Stacy seeing him pause said—
"Lift the napery, and see if ye ken the face."
The Earl did so. Angel of death! who lay there but John de Vere, his brother? no marvel he started back,—no wonder he turned pale. Life like, but dead, he lay before him. He was little altered since his brother had last seen him. Crime and bloodshed had given a more relentless aspect to his face, hotter suns had burned his complexion still darker, but the eye so fiery scarce closed, and the stillness of death had given an air of rigidity to his wild features. A frown had stiffened on his brow, and the last agony of death had impressed a vengeful scowl on his lips—the invariable effect of sword, or dagger wounds. Yes, that eye was for ever sealed.