The princess, with a look of surprise, bent her stately head, and passed forth from the room.
She had scarcely withdrawn when the two policemen presented themselves.
“You will keep the door of this apartment, and let no one enter or pass out,” said the doctor, posting the two officers one at each entrance of the death-chamber.
He gave a glance at Eudora, who stood still by the bedside, the image of grief, wonder, and perplexity, and then he passed on, and went down to rejoin Mr. Montrose, and to meet the coroner.
He met Malcolm, who was just leaving the library to meet him.
“What is the matter now? What new misfortune has occurred?” inquired the young man, noticing the doctor’s severe and threatening countenance.
“Lady Leaton has just expired, a victim to the same diabolical agency that destroyed her husband and child,” said the doctor, sternly.
Montrose started back panic-stricken, and muttering,
“Horror on horror! Are we sleeping or walking—mad or sane? Lady Leaton dead?”
“We are awake and in our right senses, Mr. Montrose, and Lady Leaton is dead—dead by the hands of that same young Asiatic fiend who murdered her husband and her daughter!”