“Then what will become of her? for oh, Justin, it is whispered that—that——”
“What?” inquired the young man, seeing his sister grow pale and large-eyed as she paused.
“That—oh, it is too horrible to breathe—that——”
“For Heaven’s sake, speak, Erminie!”
“—The house is the resort of conspirators, who plan—plan—no less a crime than—than—.” Her voice gradually sank to a whisper, and then stopped altogether.
“Than what? Speak, my sister; take courage and speak!”
“Oh, I cannot! I cannot! Spare me! it is too horrible!”
“But what house is it to which you allude?”
“Witch Elms.”
“And it is said to be the resort of conspirators, who plan—what?” persisted Justin.