"And after what we have heard, inexplicable," asserted Mr. Ferris. "To be told of a supposable case of murder one minute, and then to see it exemplified in this dreadful way the next, is an experience of no common order. I own I am overcome by it." And he flung open a door that communicated with the lane and let the outside air sweep in.
"That door was unlocked," remarked Mr. Lord, glancing at Mr. Orcutt, who stood with severe, set face, looking down at the outstretched form which, for several years now, had so often sat opposite to him at his noonday meal.
With a start the latter looked up. "What did you say? The door unlocked? There is nothing strange in that. She never locked her doors, though she was so very deaf I often advised her to." And he allowed his eyes to run over the wide stretch of low, uncultivated ground before him, that, in the opinion of many persons, was such a decided blot upon the town. "There is no one in sight," he reluctantly admitted.
"No," responded the other. "The ground is unfavorable for escape. It is marshy and covered with snake grass. A man could make his way, however, between the hillocks into those woods yonder, if he were driven by fear or understood the path well. What is the matter, Orcutt?"
"Nothing," affirmed the latter,—"nothing, I thought I heard a groan."
"You heard me make an exclamation," spoke up Mr. Ferris, who by this time had sufficiently overcome his emotion to lift the head of the prostrate woman and look in her face. "This woman is not dead."
"What!" they both cried, bounding forward.
"See, she breathes," continued the former, pointing to her slowly laboring chest. "The villain, whoever he was, did not do his work well; she may be able to tell us something yet."
"I do not think so," murmured Mr. Orcutt. "Such a blow as that must have destroyed her faculties, if not her life. It was of cruel force."
"However that may be, she ought to be taken care of now," cried Mr. Ferris. "I wish Dr. Tredwell was here."