“Compose yourself, madam. There is no murder on his hands. There is nothing but what you may get over in the peace of your father’s house,” said Will Walling.
“Why cannot you tell me what it is, then?” demanded Lamia, breaking into sobs and tears.
“Yes! why the mischief can’t you speak out?”
“Because I gave my word not to do so. Because, in any case, I would not do so. Because it is not even proper that I should. And, finally, because it is best that your sister should hear what she must from her father.”
“It is a nightmare! A horrid, hideous nightmare!” cried Lamia, sobbing violently.
“When are we to hear this news, whatever it may be—this mystery, this calamity—from the old gentleman?” roughly demanded Leegh.
“When the gentleman who is with him now comes out to tell us that your father is ready to receive you,” replied Will Walling.
“By ——! Upon my honor, you are very cool, sir,” sneered Leegh.
“It is a nightmare! A ghastly, deadly nightmare!” wailed Lamia.
“It it the day of doom, and the quick and the dead rise in judgment!” groaned a deep, hollow voice.