Otway.
Third floor, rear room, first door at the head of the stairs! What was I about to encounter there?
Mounting the lower flight, and shuddering by the library wall, which to my troubled fancy seemed written all over with horrible suggestions, I took my way slowly up-stairs, revolving in my mind many things, among which an admonition uttered long ago by my mother occupied a prominent place.
“My son, remember that a woman with a secret may be a fascinating study, but she can never be a safe, nor even satisfactory, companion.”
A wise saw, no doubt, but totally inapplicable to the present situation; yet it continued to haunt me till the sight of the door to which I had been directed put every other thought to flight save that I was about to meet the stricken nieces of a brutally murdered man.
“Pausing only long enough on the threshold to compose myself for the interview, I lifted my hand to knock”
Pausing only long enough on the threshold to compose myself for the interview, I lifted my hand to knock, when a rich, clear voice rose from within, and I heard distinctly uttered these astounding words: “I do not accuse your hand, though I know of none other which would or could have done this deed; but your heart, your head, your will, these I do and must accuse, in my secret mind at least; and it is well that you should know it!”
Struck with horror, I staggered back, my hands to my ears, when a touch fell on my arm, and turning, I saw Mr. Gryce standing close beside me, with his finger on his lip, and the last flickering shadow of a flying emotion fading from his steady, almost compassionate countenance.
“Come, come,” he exclaimed; “I see you don’t begin to know what kind of a world you are living in. Rouse yourself; remember they are waiting down below.”