The spectacle which met the eyes of Arthur on entering this fatal place redoubled the emotion by which he was already agitated. By the light of a number of torches placed hap-hazard around the room, might be seen a group in whose visages and attitudes extreme consternation was displayed. The bed on which the victim was lying had been dragged into the middle of the room, in order to facilitate the remedies which the physician was beginning to apply. At the pillow knelt an old priest, watching for some sign of life which might permit him to commence the performance of his office. These two individuals, invested with an office equally stern and almost equally sacred, had arrived at the same moment. Accustomed to meet at the bedside of the dying, they scarcely exchanged words. Without losing time the physician had commenced his work; the priest was awaiting the fitting moment for his. At the foot of the bed, motionless as a statue, sat the wife of the wounded man, her hands tightly clasping the edge of the couch, which she had seized with convulsive energy when they had tried to draw her away from the bloody spectacle. Not a tear, not a groan escaped her; pale as if at the point of death herself, with fixed eyes and set teeth, she gazed upon her husband in mute stupefaction; and now and then, as if the better to see him, she dashed aside with frantic gesture the black locks which fell in disorder over her forehead and shoulders. At sight of her lover, Lucia testified neither perturbation nor surprise: it seemed as if excess of emotion had dried up all the sources of ordinary feelings. With a look of profound sadness she pointed to the lifeless body of her husband, and then resumed her stone-like aspect, which might remind the beholder of one of the ancient victims of destiny. However conscience may be lulled and put to sleep by passion, it is always sure to awake at the sight of death. As Arthur gazed upon the man whose hospitality he had abused, now lying bathed in his blood, he felt a portion of that remorse which racked the heart of the guilty wife steal over his soul. At such a moment to direct toward her a single word, a look, even a thought, seemed to him an odious profanation. Instead of approaching her he seated himself beside the priest, and said in a low voice: 'Is there any hope of saving him?' 'GOD knows!' replied the old man, raising his eyes to heaven