"Well—well, I will. Come on."
They halted within a couple of yards of the body. Tom Eccles would not go a step farther; so Marchdale advanced alone, and pretended to be, with great repugnance, examining for the wound.
"He is quite dead," he said; "but I cannot see the hurt."—"I think he turned his head as I fired."
"Did he? Let us see."
Marchdale lifted up the head, and disclosed such a mass of clotted-looking blood, that Tom Eccles at once took to his heels, nor stopped until he was nearly as far off as the ruins. Marchdale followed him more slowly, and when he came up to him, he said,—
"The slugs have taken effect on his face."—"I know it—I know it. Don't tell me."
"He looks horrible."—"And I am a murderer."
"Psha! You look upon this matter too seriously. Think of who and what he was, and then you will soon acquit yourself of being open to any such charge."—"I am bewildered, Mr. Marchdale, and cannot now know whether he be a vampyre or not. If he be not, I have murdered, most unjustifiably, a fellow-creature."
"Well, but if he be?"—"Why, even then I do not know but that I ought to consider myself as guilty. He is one of God's creatures if he were ten times a vampyre."
"Well, you really do take a serious view of the affair."—"Not more serious than it deserves."