"Oh, yes, quite well, thank God," she answered, more collectedly--"quite
well, but, of course, greatly, dreadfully shocked." "I will go to him, mother; I will see him," said he, turning
towards the door. "He has been wretchedly depressed and excited for some days," said Mrs.
Marston, dejectedly, "and this dreadful occurrence will, I fear, affect
him most deplorably." The young man kissed her tenderly and affectionately, and hurried down to
the library, where his father usually sat when he desired to be alone, or
was engaged in business. He opened the door softly. His father was
standing at one of the windows, his face haggard as from a night's
watching, unkempt and unshorn, and with his hands thrust into his
pockets. At the sound of the revolving door he started, and seeing his
son, first recoiled a little, with a strange, doubtful expression, and
then rallying, walked quickly towards him with a smile, which had in it
something still more painful. "Charles, I am glad to see you," he said, shaking him with an agitated
pressure by both hands, "Charles, this is a great calamity, and what
makes it still worse, is that the murderer has escaped; it looks badly,
you know." He fixed his gaze for a few moments upon his son, turned abruptly, and
walked a little way into the room then, in a disconcerted manner, he
added, hastily turning back--

"Not that it signifies to us, of course--but I would fain have justice
satisfied." "And who is the wretch--the murderer?" inquired Charles. "Who? Why, everyone knows!--that scoundrel, Merton," answered Marston, in
an irritated tone--"Merton murdered him in his bed, and fled last night;
he is gone--escaped--and I suspect Sir Wynston's man of being an
accessory." "Which was Sir Wynston's bedroom?" asked the young man. "The room that old Lady Mostyn had--the room with the portrait of Grace
Hamilton in it." "I know--I know," said the young man, much excited. "I should wish
to see it." "Stay," said Marston; "the door from the passage is bolted on the inside,
and I have locked the other; here is the key, if you choose to go, but
you must bring Hughes with you, and do not disturb anything; leave all as
it is; the jury ought to see, and examine for themselves." Charles took the key, and, accompanied by the awestruck servant, he made
his way by the back stairs to the door opening from the dressing-room,
which, as we have said, intervened between the valet's chamber and Sir
Wynston's. After a momentary hesitation, Charles turned the key in the
door, and stood. "In the dark chamber of white death." The shutters lay partly open, as the valet had left them some hours
before, on making the astounding discovery, which the partially admitted
light revealed. The corpse lay in the silk-embroidered dressing gown, and
other habiliments, which Sir Wynston had worn, while taking his ease in
his chamber, on the preceding night. The coverlet was partially dragged
over it. The mouth was gaping, and filled with clotted blood; a wide gash
was also visible in the neck, under the ear; and there was a thickening
pool of blood at the bedside, and quantities of blood, doubtless from
other wounds, had saturated the bedclothes under the body. There lay Sir
Wynston, stiffened in the attitude in which the struggle of death had
left him, with his stern, stony face, and dim, terrible gaze turned up. Charles looked breathlessly for more than a minute upon this mute and
unchanging spectacle, and then silently suffered the curtain to fall back
again, and stepped, with the light tread of awe, again to the door. There
he turned back, and pausing for a minute, said, in a whisper, to the
attendant--

"And Merton did this?" "Troth, I'm afeard he did, sir," answered the man, gloomily. "And has made his escape?" continued Charles. "Yes, sir; he stole away in the night-time," replied the servant, "after
the murder was done" (and he glanced fearfully toward the bed); "God
knows where he's gone." "The villain!" muttered Charles; "but what was his motive? why did he do
all this--what does it mean?" "I don't know exactly, sir, but he was very queer for a week and more
before it," replied the man; "there was something bad over him for a
long time." "It is a terrible thing," said Charles, with a profound sigh; "a terrible
and shocking occurrence." He hesitated again at the door, but his feelings had sustained a terrible
revulsion at sight of the corpse, and he was no longer disposed to
prosecute his purposed examination of the chamber and its contents; with
a view to conjecturing the probable circumstances of the murder. "Observe, Hughes, that I have moved nothing in the chamber from the place
it occupied when we entered," he said to the servant, as they withdrew. He locked the door, and as he passed through the hall, on his return, he
encountered his father, and, restoring the key, said--

"I could not stay there; I am almost sorry I have seen it; I am
overpowered; what a determined, ferocious murder it was; the place is all
in a pool of gore; he must have received many wounds." "I can't say; the particulars will be elicited soon enough; those details
are for the inquest; as for me, I hate such spectacles," said Marston,
gloomily; "go now, and see your sister; you will find her there." He pointed to the small room where we have first seen her and her fair
governess; Charles obeyed the direction, and Marston proceeded himself to
his wife's sitting room. The young man, dispirited and horrified by the awful spectacle he had
just contemplated, hurried to the little study occupied by his sister. Marston himself ascended, as we have said, the great staircase leading to
his wife's private sitting room. "Mrs. Marston," he said, entering, "this is a hateful occurrence, a
dreadful thing to have taken place here; I don't mean to affect grief
which I don't feel; but the thing is very shocking, and particularly so,
as having occurred under my roof; but that cannot now be helped. I have
resolved to spare no exertions, and no influence, to bring the assassin
to justice; and a coroner's jury will, within a few hours, sift the
evidence which we have succeeded in collecting. But my purpose in seeking
you now is, to recur to the conversation we yesterday had, respecting a
member of this establishment." "Mademoiselle de Barras?" suggested the lady. "Yes, Mademoiselle de Barras," echoed Marston; "I wish to say, that,
having reconsidered the circumstances affecting her, I am absolutely
resolved that she shall not continue to be an inmate of this house." He paused, and Mrs. Marston said--

"Well, Richard, I am sorry, very sorry for it; but your decision shall
never be disputed by me." "Of course," said Marston, drily; "and, therefore, the sooner you
acquaint her with it, and let her know that she must go, the better." Having said this, he left her, and went to his own chamber, where he
proceeded to make his toilet with elaborate propriety, in preparation for
the scene which was about to take place under his roof.