The Mysteries of London; or, Revelations of the British Metropolis — page 300: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

298 MYSTERIES with cold water and vinegar, over the face of the invalid. | Both of them,—both of them, repeated the latter, whose voice became weaker, until it sank into an almost indistinct murmur. | Both of them, reiterated Rio Santo, as though | he sought to read upon the features of the sick man, an explanation of his meaning ; for six days past has he unceasingly repeated these same words ——I cannot divine their import. He clasped his hands together, and a more bitter expression of disappointment suddenly per- vaded his features. I saw him, I saw him, said Angus Macfarlane, in a hollow tone. I saw his breast pierced with a round red wound—and the voice of my dream said to me, It is the blood of thy veins which must deal death to him. Rio Santo looked at the sick man with vague terror. ‘Saddle my good black steed, Duncan of the Muir, suddenly cried the laird, in a loud voice. I must pass the river to day, that I may go to London, and Fergus O’Brian, the assassin of my brother Macnab, shall! die. Rio Santo uncovered his face, and made a ges- ture of mute resignation. | I will saddle your horse, Macfarlane, replied he, but Fergus O’Brian, is also your brother—when you kill him, you will have no brother left. © That’s true, exclaimed the laird, who shook with anguish, under the bed-clothes—that’s trues, And then he addded, in a voice so low, that Rio Py : comicbooks:¢om :