"If you have faithfully kept your promise, there will be an explosion when I open the vault."
Slowly he turned the key a second time; and as the arched door opened and swung back on its golden hinges, there was a flash and sharp report from a pistol within.
Edna started involuntarily notwithstanding the warning, and clung to his arm an instant, but he took no notice of her whatever. His fingers relaxed their iron grasp of hers, his hand dropped to his side, and leaning forward, he bowed his head on the marble dome of the little temple. How long he stood there she knew not; but the few moments seemed to her interminable as she silently watched his motionless figure.
He was so still, that finally she conjectured he might possibly have fainted from some cause unknown to her; and averse though she was to addressing him, she said timidly:
"Mr. Murray, are you ill? Give me the key of the door and I will bring you some wine."
There was no answer, and in alarm she put her hand on his.
Tightly he clasped it, and drawing her suddenly close to his side, said without raising his face:
"Edna Earl, I have been ill—for years—but I shall be better henceforth. O child! child! your calm, pure, guileless soul can not comprehend the blackness and dreariness of mine. Better that you should lie down now in death, with all the unfolded freshness of your life gathered in your grave, than live to know the world as I have proved it. For many years I have lived without hope or trust or faith in anything—in anybody. To-night I stand here lacking sympathy with or respect for my race, and my confidence in human nature was dead; but, child, you have galvanized the corpse."
Again the mournful music of his voice touched her heart, and she felt her tears rising as she answered in a low, hesitating tone:
"It was not death, Mr. Murray, it was merely syncope and this is a healthful reaction from disease."