“But I want to think so, Wynne,” and Milly’s eyes stared with a peculiar light. “I’d rather think they were killed by that ghost than by a person,—wouldn’t you?”
“What do you mean, Milly? Murdered?”
“Yes, Eve. That’s what it must have been, if not spirits. They had no mortal disease, either of them.”
“Don’t mention that before any one else,” admonished Eve, very seriously. “There are other explanations, Milly. Many deaths have been brought about by sudden fright or by continuous apprehension of imaginary danger. Vernie had been warned twice. True, I didn’t think of four in the afternoon, but doubtless she did, and maybe, seeing the sudden attack of Mr. Bruce, so startled her that she thought of the four o’clock doom and gave way herself.”
“She might give way to the extent of fainting, or a fit of hysterics,” admitted Milly, “but not to the extent of dropping dead! It’s unthinkable,—it’s unbelievable——”
“It’s almost unbelievable that they should be dead,” Eve said, softly, “but as to how they died, let’s not speculate, dear. I suppose we must have a doctor up from New York,—what do you think, Mr. Landon?”
“Eh?—oh, I don’t know,—I’m sure I don’t know.”
“But you’ll have to take charge, won’t you?” asked Eve. “You two are really the heads of this house——”
“All I want is to get away,” moaned Milly. “When can we go, Wynne?”
“I don’t know, dear. Say, Eve, won’t you take Milly down to-night? I can’t leave, of course, but I daren’t keep her here, lest she go to pieces. You take her home,—there’s a train in about an hour.”