"Came to before he died--wish he
hadn't--put me to a deal of trouble--sent for a magistrate--then for a
minister--had something on his mind--couldn't die without telling it, you
know; then there was oaths, depositions--so much trouble. Are you his
relation--want an order for the body?"
"Oaths! magistrate!--a confession no doubt," thought Lizzie; her limbs
trembled; she was so overcome with terror that she could scarcely stand;
clinging to the railing of the desk by which she was standing for support,
she asked, hesitatingly, "He had something to confess then?"
The janitor looked at her for a few moments attentively, and seemed to
notice for the first time her ladylike appearance and manners; a sort of
reserve crept over him at the conclusion of his scrutiny, for he made no
answer to her question, but simply asked, with more formality than before,
"Are you a relation--do you want an order for the body?"
Ere Lizzie could answer his question, a man, plainly dressed, with keen
grey eyes that seemed to look restlessly about in every corner of the room,
came and stood beside the janitor. He looked at Lizzie from the bow on the
top of her bonnet to the shoes on her feet; it was not a stare, it was more
a hasty glance--and yet she could not help feeling that he knew every item
of her dress, and could have described her exactly.
Pages:
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518