She was sitting by the body on the floor
when she heard steps coming with rushing and yet cautious tread, through
the shrubbery; she had no fear, although it might be the tread of robbers
and murderers. The awfulness of the hour raised her above common fears;
though she did not go through the usual process of reasoning, and by it
feel assured that the feet which were coming so softly and swiftly along
were the same which she had heard leaving the room in like manner only a
quarter of an hour before.
Her father entered, and started back, almost upsetting some one behind
him by his recoil, on seeing his daughter in her motionless attitude by
the dead man.
"My God, Ellinor! what has brought you here?" he said, almost fiercely.
But she answered as one stupefied, "I don't know. Is he dead?"
"Hush, hush, child; it cannot be helped."
She raised her eyes to the solemn, pitying, awe-stricken face behind her
father's--the countenance of Dixon.
"Is he dead?" she asked of him.
The man stepped forwards, respectfully pushing his master on one side as
he did so. He bent down over the corpse, and looked, and listened and
then reaching a candle off the table, he signed Mr. Wilkins to close the
door. And Mr. Wilkins obeyed, and looked with an intensity of eagerness
almost amounting to faintness on the experiment, and yet he could not
hope.
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