Let me
spare the reader one horror, however. Hunger was not torturing the
unfortunate man at this moment. Beside him, on the floor, lay a piece
of meat, and an unfinished loaf--thus it was evident that food had been
brought to him; and as some of that food remained uneaten, he must have
satisfied his hunger.
From Swartz, my glance passed to Darke. This second survey of the
worthy proved to me that he was what is succinctly styled "half-drunk."
But drink appeared not to have exhilarated him. It seemed even to have
made him more morose. In the eyes and lips of the heavily bearded
Hercules could be read a species of gloomy sarcasm--a something
resembling bitter melancholy.
The woman in the gray dress, had never appeared cooler. She rocked to
and fro in her chair with an air of perfect _insouciance_.
The interview had evidently lasted some time before our arrival at the
house; but, as the reader will perceive, we came soon enough to
overhear a somewhat singular revelation.
As I reached my position near the door, Darke was speaking to
Swartz:--
"You ask why you are shut up here to starve," he said, "and as I have
some time on my hands to-night, I am going to tell you. That might be
called 'imprudent.' No! I am talking to a dead man! You see I hold out
no false hopes--you will not leave this house alive probably--I will go
back, and tell you something which will serve to explain the whole.
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