St. Irvyne

Wolfstein involuntarily shuddered.-- Cavigni quaffed the liquor to the dregs! --the cup fell from his trembling hand. The chill dew of death sat upon his forehead: in terrific convulsion he fell headlong; and, inarticulately uttering "I am poisoned," sank seemingly lifeless on the earth. Sixty robbers at once rushed forward to raise him; and, reclining in their arms, with an horrible and harrowing shriek, the spark of life fled from his body for ever. A robber, skilled in surgery, opened a vein; but no blood followed the touch of the lancet. --Wolfstein advanced to the body, unappalled by the crime which he had committed.