e watch, and the
gold, and the portrait, together in the tin box, and tried to think
where she could hide them.

Owing to the storm, and the depth of the snow, no one visited the lonely
farm-house until the Monday following the tragedy, when a neighbor came
breaking through the drifts to see how it fared with Peter, who tried to
appear natural as he talked of the depth of the snow, and inquired for
the news, and mentally anathematized the dog Rover, who, the moment the
stranger appeared, stretched himself before the bedroom door with a
keen, watchful look in his eyes, as if he were on the alert and guarding
the terrible secret.

And this habit, commenced that morning, was continued by the faithful
creature up to the day of his death, which happened several years later.
No matter where he was, whether chasing a rabbit through the woods or
sleeping by the stable door, he seemed by some instinct to know when a
visitor arrived, and hastened at once to his post, from which neither
threats nor persuasions could dislodge him. For Hannah tried both, but
when she coaxed he whined and whisked his big tail on the floor, and
when she threatened he growled and showed his teeth, but staid there
just the same.

The Monday night following the tragedy, Hannah was stricken down with a
low, nervous fever, which lasted for weeks, and from which she arose the
mere shadow of her former self. All life and vivacity had left her, and
instead of a girl of fifteen she seemed like a woman of twenty-five, so
quiet and reserved she became, with no color in her cheeks, no
elasticity in her step, no joy in her voice, no brightness anywhere
except in her large dark eyes, which shone with unusual brilliancy, and
had in them always a look which puzzled and fascinated her friends, who
little dreamed of what those strangely bright, beautiful eyes saw
constantly before them.

Whether sleeping or waking the picture was always there, of the dead man
on the floor with the blood-stains on his face, and she felt the touch
of the clammy hands which she had folded upon his breast. She could not
go to school again, for in her morbid state of mind to study was
impossible, and so she staid at home, brooding over the past and
shrinking from the future, with no companionship except that of Rover,
who seemed so fully to understand and sympathize with her. Oftentimes
when her work for the day was done, and she sat down listlessly upon a
little seat beneath the apple