I called myself Anna. At this moment, Blueskin appeared with the lamp, and revealed a horrible spectacle,—the floor deluged with blood,—various articles of furniture upset,—papers scattered about,—the murdered man's cloak, trampled upon, and smeared with gore,—his hat, crushed and similarly stained,—his sword,—the ensanguined cloth,—with several other ghastly evidences of the slaughterous deed. “You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Anna answered firmly. “But you must forgive me, John. To love in such a way, it is excessively selfish.
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