I could not think what was going on. It was plainly something most horrible, for Mrs. Rusk's screams pealed one after the other unabated, though with a muffled sound, as if the door was shut upon her; and by this time the bells of my father's room were ringing madly.
'They are trying to murder him!' I cried, and I ran along the gallery to his door, followed by Mary Quince, whose white face I shall never forget, though her entreaties only sounded like unmeaning noises in my ears.
'Here! help, help, help!' I cried, trying to force open the door.
'Shove it, shove it, for God's sake! he's across it,' cried Mrs. Rusk's voice from within; 'drive it in. I can't move him.'
I strained all I could at the door, but ineffectually. We heard steps approaching. The men were running to the spot, and shouting as they did so—
'Never mind; hold on a bit; here we are; all right;' and the like.
We drew back, as they came up. We were in no condition to be seen. We listened, however, at my open door.
Then came the straining and bumping at the door. Mrs. Rusk's voice subsided to a sort of wailing; the men were talking all together, and I suppose the door opened, for I heard some of the voices, on a sudden, as if in the room; and then came a strange lull, and talking in very low tones, and not much even of that.
'What is it, Mary? what can it be?' I ejaculated, not knowing what horror to suppose. And now, with a counterpane about my shoulders, I called loudly and imploringly, in my horror, to know what had happened.
But I heard only the subdued and eager talk of men engaged in some absorbing task, and the dull sounds of some heavy body being moved.