Mr. Tracy sat and wrote for some time after his return--to the coroner, to some of the neighbouring magistrates; and then he, too, retired to rest, excited, but not too much for sleep.
On the following morning he rose about half-past eight o'clock, and rang his bell. It was one of the footmen who appeared, and informed him that the valet had been summoned to attend the coroner's inquest, which had been sitting since seven.
"It is strange they did not inform me," observed Mr. Tracy.
"Why, Sir, Taylor said he had all the papers," replied the man; "and that it was a pity to disturb you, as you had not seemed well of late."
"Is Sir William Winslow up?" inquired Mr. Tracy.
"No, Sir," answered the footman; "his windows are tight closed, and his man says he often sleeps till ten."
Mr. Tracy dressed himself, and went down stairs. He found Rose alone in the breakfast-room, making tea, after having inquired if he had risen.
"Emily does not feel well, papa," she said; "and I advised her to remain in bed. But what is this terrible news my maid tells me--a man found murdered in our grounds last night?"
"Too true, my love," answered Mr. Tracy. "The coroner's inquest, it seems, is now sitting; and I am not sure that your evidence may not be required, Rose. I know you have a strong mind, my dear child, and a true heart; and therefore I trust you will not let the unpleasantness of such a circumstance pain you too much."
"My evidence!" cried Rose--"mine! What can I tell them? I saw nothing of the matter, or you may be sure I should have told you at once."