Windows were now thrown open on every side, the watchman's rattle became audible, there was a tread of many feet, the sound of many voices, and all seemed to promise speedy aid, when, amidst the death-like silence beside her window, Marion heard a strange, unearthly laugh, which sounded more appalling in a such a scene than all she had yet beheld. A mysterious dread fell over her heart, her eyes swam, her brain reeled, a faint sickness came upon her, she made a feeble attempt to support herself against the window, and, with a convulsive sigh, sank almost insensible on a seat. When Marion recovered, a low, murmuring sound of many voices became audible. Martin hastily opened the door, and a crowd of strange faces appeared, pale and full of horror; while several men almost staggered beneath the weight of a shutter, on which lay a motionless figure, partly concealed by a cloak, with a bloody napkin over the face; while the stillness, the stiff and rigid look of that immovable form, could indicate nothing but death.
There was that in the voices of those who entered which caused Marion's nerves to creep with apprehension. A low murmur stole through the crowd, while, shivering with apprehension, she silently gazed on the stone-like, lifeless image before her. The hair was damp and matted with gore, the hands were clenched in agony, the dress soiled with clay and blood; but the tall figure retained a look of solemn dignity; and Marion felt a cold thrill shoot through her heart, while her eyes became riveted on that ghastly object.
Though unable to speak, or to ask a single question, her mind was intensely conscious of all that passed; while many surmises were whispered around respecting the cause and origin of this fearful catastrophe, and much impatience was expressed for the proper authorities to arrive and take cognizance of the circumstances. Marion, at length, feeling herself alone among so great a concourse of strangers, had slowly turned to leave the room, when her ear was caught by hearing the name of De Lancey, and, turning hastily round, she started to find Lord Wigton close beside her, in earnest conference with an officer, who remarked, in low, ominous accents, "I am perfectly well aware that several discussions took place between them lately, respecting the circumstances of his childhood, though I understood them to be of a friendly nature; but this very evening, at Mrs. Smytheson's, some very high words, passed relating to a young lady." A faint chill came over Marion as she heard these words, and turning, with a bewildered look, to the speaker, she asked, in a low, deep voice, if he knew anything of Henry De Lancey.
"Yes! only too much, if all be as we suspect," replied the stranger sternly. "I always liked De Lancey; but if he had any hand in this business, great as the provocation may have been, he would be more like an Italian assassin than a British officer. He was heard once to declare the greatest abhorrence to duelling; but these canting sort of speeches never come to any good. At Mrs. Smytheson's, not two hours ago, he seemed very violently irritated against my unfortunate friend who lies murdered there."
Marion's countenance became pale and terror-stricken; she looked irresolutely round, and then, with faltering steps, approached a table on which the corpse had been laid. She could not speak, and her hand trembled convulsively; but she grasped a napkin which shrouded the features of the deceased. Slowly and fearfully she raised it, gave one shrinking glance, and, with a broken shriek of astonishment, beheld, stained with blood, and rigid as marble, the well-known features of Captain De Crespigny.
Marion's heart stood still, a cold shiver ran through her frame, and, tottering back, with a gasp of pallid horror, she sank upon a seat, where her blanched cheek and quivering lip revealed the agony of her amazement and horror. Conscious at once that this must be the work of Ernest Anstruther, still the world seemed to rock beneath her feet, with the vibration of crime and misery; while, covering her face with her hands, she tried to shut out the very thought of all she had beheld.
Martin had sent an express instantly to Lord Doncaster; and, meanwhile, the dreadful tale flew far and wide; while the universal appetite for horror seemed on this occasion more than satiated. A young, handsome, and talented officer, thus brought down, by some mysterious agency, to the dust of death! It was appalling; and throughout the whole neighborhood, a spirit of eager, burning, impatient curiosity, became general.
A summons at length arrived, for all present to proceed instantly to Kilmarnock Abbey, that depositions might be taken before Lord Doncaster and the nearest magistrates, while Marion as a witness was obliged immediately to appear there, that her testimony might assist with that of others in clearing up the tragical mystery. The unwarrantable suspicions which had been expressed respecting Henry, formed a strong additional motive to Marion for consenting to accompany the melancholy cavalcade, as she was anxious at once publicly to acquit him, knowing that, as the proverb says, "if a lie has no feet on which to stand, it has always wings with which to fly round the world."
Marion hastened into a carriage which had been sent, that she might follow the body to Kilmarnock Abbey, where she was ushered before long within the house. It was a solemn scene! That large, old hall hung with antique armour, spears, horns, cross-bows, and portraits of many a long-forgotten ancestor. The gothic stained window, magnificent in its proportions, the ancient grained roof, the black oaken panels, the cumbrous, carved woodwork, the marble floor, and the faded tapestry, all dimly illuminated by the glimmering of a single lamp hastily lighted for the occasion. An uncertain, mysterious gleam was cast on the nearest objects, while the more distant recesses were thrown into gloomy shadow, and the tumultuous agitation of those around contrasted strangely with the locked and riveted limbs of that motionless figure to which all eyes were directed, the rigid stillness and stern composure of that countenance now invested with all the majesty of death, from which Marion turned with shuddering sympathy and amazement, while the multitude of servants and spectators continued in a state of wild excitement, uttering on every side subdued exclamations of horror.
At length Lord Doncaster himself slowly entered, with several gentlemen, some of whom looked deeply concerned, while others were evidently no more affected than if they had come to see the fifth act of a well-performed tragedy. Among the first to appear was Henry De Lancey, to whom Marion had instantly sent an express, and, totally unconscious of exciting more than ordinary notice, he advanced to Lord Doncaster with an expression of heartfelt sorrow, wishing to volunteer his services in unraveling the appalling and mysterious events of the night. While some eyes were turned on Henry with eager and intense scrutiny, an anxious investigation was commenced, though without success, for no clue could be obtained which threw any light upon this treacherous and unaccountable murder.