Once he thought he heard a movement within, and listened intently with all his faculties, as only a savage can listen, but all was still again.

And then gathering courage, he went in.
In the entrance, stepping over the body of the dead bushranger, he found the poor old white-headed hutkeeper knocked down and killed in the first rush.

He went on into the parlour; and there,--oh, lamentable sight!--was Cecil; clever, handsome little Cecil, our old favourite, lying half fallen from the sofa, shot through the heart, dead.
But not alone.

No; prone along the floor, covering six feet or more of ground, lay the hideous corpse of Moody, the cannibal.

The red-headed miscreant, who had murdered poor Lee, under George Hawker's directions.
I think the poor black boy would have felt in his dumb darkened heart some sorrow at seeing his kind old master so cruelly murdered.