ntil they became lost
in silence. Soon the hasty tread of several feet were heard, and two
or three females entered the room. Their presence caused the woman
to cry bitterly.

"False-hearted, cruel wretch!" I could not help muttering to myself.
"Hypocritical cries and crocodile tears will not hide your sin. An
ear of which you dreamed not has heard your hellish plots, and been
witness to your hellish deeds upon the body of your poor babe. You
cannot escape. The voice of blood cries from the very ground. The
hope of the murderer is vain. He cannot hide himself from the
pursuer."

For half the night, I lay awake, thinking of what had occurred, and
settling in my mind the course of proceeding to adopt in the
morning. I was up long before sunrise--in fact, long before anybody
else was stirring--awaiting the appearance of the landlord, to whom
it was my intention to give information of the dreadful deed that
had been committed. Full an hour elapsed before he made his
appearance. I immediately drew him aside.

"There has been a death in the house," said I.

"Yes," he replied. "The poor sick child that was brought here by the
Eastern stage last evening died in the night. I did not suppose it
would live till morning. To me, it seemed in a dying state when its
parents arrived."

"There has been foul play," said I, with emphasis. "That child has
not died a natural death."

"How so? What do you mean?" asked the landlord, with a look of
surprise.

"I mean what I say," was my reply. "As sure as I am a living man,
that child has been murdered." I then related all I had heard, to
the horror and astonishment of the landlord.

"A deed like this must not go unpunished," he said, sternly and
angrily. "It is horrible to think of it."

After talking over the matter for some time, it was determined to
call a council of half a dozen of the regular boarders in the house,
as soon as breakfast was over, and decide upon the steps best to be
taken. Accordingly, after breakfast, a few of us assembled in a
private parlour, and I again related, with minuteness, all that I
had heard. After sundry expressions of horror and indignation, a
gentleman said to me--"Are you sure it was grains or granules of
aconite and arsenic that were given to the child?"

"Grains, sir," I replied, promptly.

"This is a serious matter," he added; "and if there should be any
mistake, it would be sad indeed to harrow the feelings of those
bereaved parents by