"I do!" thundered Luke, "and I now insist upon his going through the trial—myself will point out the way." So saying, he approached the lifeless body, and sinking on his knees, laid his right hand reverently on the heart, saying—
"My blessed angel! if thy spirit lingers near, thou knowest that this hand would rather let my life-blood forth, than offer thee the shadow of an injury!"
They waited an instant—all was quiet; meantime, Mark, persuading himself that it was but a form, and yet trembling to the very core, advanced. All eyes were upon him; he paused—cast a glance around, and grinding his teeth savagely, cried out:
"Why do you all fix your gaze on me? I'm not afraid to do this piece of folly." He advanced another step—again he hesitated; heartless—brutal—though he was, the spell of a mighty dread was on his soul. His face grew livid; the blood started from his lips; large round drops burst from his forehead and rolled down his ashy cheeks. At last, with a tremendous effort, he knelt, and attempted to stretch forth his hand—it seemed glued to his side. Starting to his feet again, he cried fiercely:
"I will not do it—why should I?"
"You cannot!—you dare not!" solemnly ejaculated Luke. "If you are guiltless, why should you fear?"
"Fear!" screamed the other, "I fear neither man nor devil—dead nor living," suddenly placing his hand upon the breast of the dead!
"See—see!" cried Luke, wildly, "the blood mounts up—it overflows!"
"It's a lie!" madly exclaimed Mark.
But it was no lie; the ruddy stream welled upward through those gaping wounds, and flowed once more adown her snowy breast, a murmur of awe and surprise breaking from the assembled group; whilst shivering to the very heart, the terrors of discovered guilt and despair seized upon Mark.