Cloudy laughed and tried to cheer her spirits by a gay reply, and then they kept up between them a lively badinage of repartee, in which old Jenny acquitted herself quite as wittily as her young master.
And after supper she cleared away the service, and went to prepare a bed and light a fire in the room appropriated to Cloudy.
And so the evening wore away.
It grew late, yet neither Thurston nor Paul appeared. Cloudy began to think their return unseasonably delayed, and at eleven o'clock he took up his lamp to retire to his chamber, when he was startled and arrested by the barking of dogs, and by the rolling of the carriage into the yard, and in a few minutes the door was thrown violently open, and Paul Douglass, pale, haggard, convulsed and despairing, burst suddenly into the room.
"Paul! Paul! what in the name of Heaven has happened?" cried Cloudy, starting up, surprised and alarmed by his appearance.
"Oh, it has ended in his committal!—it has ended in his committal!—he is fully committed for trial!—he was sent off to-night to the county jail at Leonardtown, in the custody of two officers!"
"Who is committed? What are you talking about, Paul?" said Cloudy, taking his hand kindly and looking in his face.
These words and actions brought Paul somewhat to his senses.
"Oh! you do not know!—you do not even guess anything about it, Cloudy!
Oh, it is a terrible misfortune! Let me sit down and I will tell you!"
And Paul Douglass threw himself into a chair, and in an agitated, nearly incoherent manner, related the circumstances that led to the arrest of Thurston Willcoxen for the murder of Marian Mayfield.