Only, before he was carried from the fatal
apartment, he desired to look at the dead body, which, raised
from the floor, had been deposited upon the large table (at the
head of which Harry Wakefield had presided but a few minutes
before, full of life, vigour, and animation), until the surgeons
should examine the mortal wound. The face of the corpse was
decently covered with a napkin. To the surprise and horror of
the bystanders, which displayed itself in a general AH! drawn
through clenched teeth and half-shut lips, Robin Oig removed the
cloth, and gazed with a mournful but steady eye on the lifeless
visage, which had been so lately animated that the smile of good-
humoured confidence in his own strength, of conciliation at once
and contempt towards his enemy, still curled his lip. While
those present expected that the wound, which had so lately
flooded the apartment with gore, would send forth fresh streams
at the touch of the homicide, Robin Oig replaced the covering
with the brief exclamation, "He was a pretty man!"
My story is nearly ended. The unfortunate Highlander stood his
trial at Carlisle.
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