I don't know how
long I stayed there, freezing with horror and detestation, and yet
unable to take my eyes from the face. Did you see it in the coffin? Sir,
there was a sneer of triumph on it that was diabolic and prophetic." Marston was fearfully agitated as he spoke, and repeatedly wiped from his
face the cold sweat that gathered there. "I could not leave the room by the back stairs," he resumed, "for the
valet slept in the intervening chamber. I felt such an appalled antipathy
to the body, that I could scarcely muster courage to pass it. But, sir, I
am not easily cowed--I mastered this repugnance in a few minutes--or,
rather, I acted spite of it, I knew not how; but instinctively it
seemed to me that it was better to lay the body in the bed, than leave it
where it was, shewing, as its position might, that the thing occurred in
an altercation. So, sir, I raised it, and bore it softly across the room,
and laid it in the bed; and, while I was carrying it, it swayed forward,
the arms glided round my neck, and the head rested against my cheek--that
was a parody upon a brotherly embrace! "I do not know at what moment it was, but some time when I was carrying
Wynston, or laying him in the bed," continued Marston, who spoke rather
like one pursuing a horrible reverie, than as a man relating facts to a
listener, "I heard a light tread, and soft breathing in the lobby. A
thunderclap would have stunned me less that minute. I moved softly,
holding my breath, to the door. I believe, in moments of strong
excitement, men hear more acutely than at other times; but I thought I
heard the rustling of a gown, going from the door again. I waited--it
ceased; I waited until all was quiet. I then extinguished the candle, and
groped my way to the door; there was a faint light in the corridor, and I
thought I saw a head projected from the chamber-door, next to the
Frenchwoman's--mademoiselle's. As I came on, it was softly withdrawn,
and the door not quite noiselessly closed. I could not be absolutely
certain, but I learned all afterward. And now, sir, you have the story of
Sir Wynston's murder." Dr. Danvers groaned in spirit, being wrung alike with fear and sorrow. With hands clasped, and head bowed down, in an exceeding bitter agony of
soul, he murmured only the words of the Litany--"Lord, have mercy upon
us; Christ, have mercy upon us; Lord, have mercy upon us." Marston had recovered his usual lowering aspect and gloomy
self-possession in a few moments, and was now standing erect and defiant
before the humbled and afflicted minister of God. The contrast was
terrible--almost sublime. Doctor Danvers resolved to keep this dreadful secret, at least for a
time, to himself. He could not make up his mind to inflict upon those
whom he loved so well as Charles and Rhoda the shame and agony of such a
disclosure; yet he was sorely troubled, for his was a conflict of duty
and mercy, of love and justice. He told Charles Marston, when urged with earnest inquiry, that what he
had heard that evening was intended solely for his own ear, and gently
but peremptorily declined telling, at least until some future time, the
substance of his father's communication. Charles now felt it necessary to see his father, for the purpose of
letting him know the substance of the letter respecting "mademoiselle"
and the late Sir Wynston which had reached him. Accordingly, he
proceeded, accompanied by Doctor Danvers, on the next morning, to the
hotel where Marston had intimated his intention of passing the night. On their inquiring for him in the hall, the porter appeared much
perplexed and disturbed, and as they pressed him with questions, his
answers became conflicting and mysterious. Mr. Marston was there--he had
slept there last night; he could not say whether or not he was then in
the house; but he knew that no one could be admitted to see him. He
would, if the gentlemen wished it, send their cards to (not Mr. Marston,
but) the proprietor. And, finally, he concluded by begging that they
would themselves see "the proprietor," and dispatched a waiter to apprise
him of the circumstances of the visit. There was something odd and even
sinister in all this, which, along with the whispering and the curious
glances of the waiters, who happened to hear the errand on which they
came, inspired the two companions with vague misgivings, which they did
not care mutually to disclose. In a few moments they were shown into a small sitting room up stairs,
where the proprietor, a fussy little gentleman, and apparently very
uneasy and frightened, received them. "We have called here to see Mr. Marston," said Doctor Danvers, "and the
porter has referred us to you." "Yes, sir, exactly--precisely so," answered the little man, fidgeting
excessively, and as it seemed, growing paler every instant; "but--but, in
fact, sir, there is, there has been--in short, have you not heard of
the--the accident?" He wound up with a prodigious effort, and wiped his forehead when
he had done. "Pray, sir, be explicit: we are near friends of Mr. Marston; in fact,
sir, this is his son," said Doctor Danvers, pointing to Charles Marston;
"and we are both uneasy at the reserve with which our inquiries have been
met. Do, I entreat of you, say what has happened?" "Why--why," hesitated the man, "I really--I would not for five
hundred pounds it had happened in my house. The--the unhappy
gentleman has, in short--"

He glanced at Charles, as if afraid of the effect of the disclosure he
was on the point of making, and then hurriedly said--"He is dead, sir; he
was found dead in his room, this morning, at eight o'clock. I assure you
I have not been myself ever since." Charles Marston was so stunned by this sudden blow, that he was upon the
point of fainting. Rallying, however, with a strong effort, he demanded
to be conducted to the chamber where the body lay. The man assented, but
hesitated on reaching the door, and whispered something in the ear of
Doctor Danvers, who, as he heard it, raised his hands and eyes with a
mute expression of horror, and turning to Charles, said--

"My dear young friend, remain where you are for a few moments. I will
return to you immediately, and tell you whatever I have ascertained. You
are in no condition for such a scene at present." Charles, indeed, felt that the fact was so, and, sick and giddy, suffered
Doctor Danvers, with gentle compulsion, to force him into a seat. In silence the venerable clergyman followed his conductor. With a
palpitating heart he advanced to the bedside, and twice essayed to draw
the curtain, and twice lost courage; but gathering resolution at last,
he pulled the drapery aside, and beheld all he was to see again of
Richard Marston. The bedclothes were drawn so as nearly to cover the mouth. "There is the wound, sir," whispered the man, as with coarse
officiousness he drew back the bedclothes from the throat of the corpse,
and exhibited a gash, as it seemed, nearly severing the head from the
body.