don't do? You said you
were a lawyer. Can it be you are come from Mary Leavenworth to see how I
am fulfilling her commands, and----"

"Mrs. Belden," I said, "it is of small importance now as to who I am, or
for what purpose I am here. But that my words may have the more effect,
I will say, that whereas I have not deceived you, either as to my name
or position, it is true that I am the friend of the Misses Leavenworth,
and that anything which is likely to affect them, is of interest to
me. When, therefore, I say that Eleanore Leavenworth is irretrievably
injured by this gill's death----"

"Death? What do you mean? Death!"

The burst was too natural, the tone too horror-stricken for me to doubt
for another moment as to this woman's ignorance of the true state of
affairs.

"Yes," I repeated, "the girl you have been hiding so long and so well is
now beyond your control. Only her dead body remains, Mrs. Belden."

I shall never lose from my ears the shriek which she uttered, nor the
wild, "I don't believe it! I don't believe it!" with which she dashed
from the room and rushed up-stairs.

Nor that after-scene when, in the presence of the dead, she stood
wringing her hands and protesting, amid sobs of the sincerest grief and
terror, that she knew nothing of it; that she had left the girl in the
best of spirits the night before; that it was true she had locked her
in, but this she always did when any one was in the house; and that if
she died of any sudden attack, it must have been quietly, for she had
heard no stir all night, though she had listened more than once, being
naturally anxious lest the girl should make some disturbance that would
arouse me.

"But you were in here this morning?" said I.

"Yes; but I didn't notice. I was in a hurry, and thought she was asleep;
so I set the things down where she could get them and came right away,
locking the door as usual."

"It is strange she should have died this night of all others. Was she
ill yesterday?"

"No, sir; she was even brighter than common; more lively. I never
thought of her being sick then or ever. If I had----"

"You never thought of her being sick?" a voice here interrupted. "Why,
then, did you take such pains to give her a dose of medicine last
night?" And Q entered from the room beyond.

"I didn't!" she protested, evidently under the supposition it was I who
had spoken. "Did I, Hannah, did I, poor girl?" stroking the hand that
lay in hers with what