Всадник без головы

Chapter 99

           Thecondemnedmanlooksup,asifinhopesthathehastouchedachordofmercy.Thereisnosignofit,onthefacesthatsurroundhim—stillsolemnlyaustere.

           "Idon’tdeny,"continueshe;"Ineedn’t—thatIintendedtokillsomeone.Idid.NoramIgoingtodenywhoitwas.ItwasthecurIseestandingbeforeme."

           Inaglanceofconcentratedhatred,thespeakerrestshiseyeuponGerald;whoonlyanswerswithalook,socalmasalmosttobetrayindifference.

           "Yes.Iintendedtokillhim.Ihadmyreasons.I’mnotgoingtosaywhattheywere.It’snousenow.

           "IthoughtIhadkilledhim;but,ashell’sluckwouldhaveit,theIrishhoundhadchangedcloakswithmycousin.

           "Youknowtherest.BymistakeIfiredtheshot—meantforanenemy,andfataltoafriend.Itwassureenough;andpoorHenrydroppedfromhishorse.Buttomakemoresure,Idrewoutmyknife;andthecursedserapéstilldeceivingme,Ihackedoffhishead."

           The"sensation"againexpressesitselfinshudderingandshouts—thelatterprolongedintocriesofretribution—mingledwiththatmurmuringwhichproclaimsastorytold.

           Thereisnomoremystery,eitheraboutthemurderoritsmotive;andtheprisonerissparedfurtherdescriptionofthatfiendishdeed,thatleftthedeadbodyofHenryPoindexterwithoutahead.

           "Now!"crieshe,astheshoutingsubsides,andthespectatorsstandglaringuponhim,"youknowallthat’spassed;butnotwhat’stocome.There’sanothersceneyet

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