d it."

"Was it more than ten minutes?"

"Yes."

"More than twenty?"

"Perhaps." How pale her face was, and how she trembled!

"Miss Leavenworth, according to evidence, your uncle came to his death
not very long after Mr. Harwell left him. If your door was open, you
ought to have heard if any one went to his room, or any pistol shot was
fired. Now, did you hear anything?"

"I heard no confusion; no, sir."

"Did you hear anything?"

"Nor any pistol shot."

"Miss Leavenworth, excuse my persistence, but did you hear anything?"

"I heard a door close."

"What door?"

"The library door."

"When?"

"I do not know." She clasped her hands hysterically. "I cannot say. Why
do you ask me so many questions?"

I leaped to my feet; she was swaying, almost fainting. But before I
could reach her, she had drawn herself up again, and resumed her former
demeanor. "Excuse me," said she; "I am not myself this morning. I beg
your pardon," and she turned steadily to the coroner. "What was it you
asked?"

"I asked," and his voice grew thin and high,--evidently her manner was
beginning to tell against her,--"when it was you heard the library door
shut?"

"I cannot fix the precise time, but it was after Mr. Harwell came up,
and before I closed my own."

"And you heard no pistol shot?"

"No, sir."

The coroner cast a quick look at the jury, who almost to a man glanced
aside as he did so.

"Miss Leavenworth, we are told that Hannah, one of the servants, started
for your room late last night after some medicine. Did she come there?"

"No, sir."

"When did you first learn of her remarkable disappearance from this
house during the night?"

"This morning before breakfast. Molly met me in the hall, and asked
how Hannah was. I thought the inquiry a strange one, and naturally
questioned her. A moment's talk made the conclusion plain that the girl
was gone."

"What did you think when you became assured of this fact?"

"I did not know what to think."

"No suspicion of foul play crossed your mind?"

"No, sir."

"You did not connect the fact with that of your uncle's murder?"

"I did not know of this murder then."

"And afterwards?"

"Oh, some thought of the possibility of her knowing something about it
may have crossed my mind; I cannot say."

"Can you tell us anything of this girl's past history?"

"I can tell you no more in regard to it than my cousin has done."

"Do you not know what made her sad at nigh