The ground was soft, and procuring a barrel-stave, the homicide went at the labor of digging a grave for his victim.
This work consumed some time. It was accomplished at length, however, and the body of the tramp tumbled in.
Slowly the man heaped the loose sand above the breast of his victim. When it was level full he stamped it down with his feet, and then heaped on more of the dirt.
His light sputtered and grew dim, threatening to go out.
It was not a pleasant thought, the one of being left alone in the dark there, with the blood of his victim trickling through the floor upon him.
"Mercy! what a dismal place. I must get out of this instanter, and—what was that?"
The sound of a step creaking on the floor above!
An awful horror took complete possession of Barkswell at that moment. He dared not look up at the opening through which he had passed, fearing, he knew not what.
His first thought was to extinguish the light.
He snatched it from the wall, and then, in spite of his terror, he cast his eyes upward. A face, white and ghostly, peered down upon him, a pair of flaming eyes burning into his very soul. With a wild cry Barkswell flung down the light, and fell fainting across the grave of his murdered victim.