Excitement and horror had effectually driven away from the two ladies all inclination to sleep, and the moments dragged by on leaden wings, until daylight brought some small sense of relief.
As Mrs. Selby threw open the window-shutters her eyes were gladdened by the sight of a neighbor nearing her door. She hastened to admit him.
“Good-morning,” he said; “I’m out looking for my cow; she’s strayed away, and I thought you might—But what’s wrong?” he broke off abruptly, gazing at her with mingled surprise and alarm.
She pointed to the chimney and dropped, white, trembling, and speechless, into a chair.
Mildred had closed the inner door the moment his loud, hearty tones were heard at the other.
“What is it? house afire?” he asked. “Never mind, we’ll soon have it out. Where’s your water-bucket?” with a hasty glance about the room.
“No, no! a man—drunk—dead—I—I think,” gasped Mrs. Selby.
“What! in the chimney? You don’t say!” And hurrying to the fireplace, he stooped and stuck his head in. “Yes, sure enough,” he gasped, withdrawing it with a shudder, “I see his legs dangling down. He’s dead you think?” turning from Mrs. Selby to Mildred.
“Yes,” she said, in an awed, tremulous tone; “he groaned and cried out so at first, but hasn’t uttered a sound for hours.”
“Horrible! horrible! You don’t know who he is?”