"It is well none of the servants are in this end of the house," she said, quietly; "or those loud screams would be overheard, and might give rise to disagreeable remarks."
Receiving no answer from her companion, she turned to him, and seeing the look of horror on his ghastly face, her lip curled with involuntary scorn. It was strange she could stand there so unmoved, knowing herself to be a murderess, with the dying cries of her victim still ringing in her ears.
They ceased at last—died away in a low, despairing moan, and then all grew still. The deep, solemn silence was more appalling than her shrieks had been, for they well knew they were stilled forever in death.
"All is over!" said Mrs. Oranmore, drawing a deep breath.
"Yes," was the answer, in a voice so hoarse and unnatural, that it seemed to issue from the jaws of death.
Again she looked at him, and again the mocking smile curled her lip.
"Doctor," she said, quietly, "you are a greater coward than I ever took you to be. I am going in now to see her—you had better follow me, if you are not afraid."
How sardonic was the smile which accompanied these words. Stunned, terrified as he was, it stung him, and he started after her from the room.
They entered the chamber of the invalid. Mrs. Oranmore walked to the bed, drew back the curtains, and disclosed a frightful spectacle.
Half sitting, half lying, in a strange, distorted attitude she had thrown herself into in her dying agony, her lips swollen and purple, her eyes protruding, her hair torn fiercely out by the roots, as she had clutched it in her fierce anguish, was Esther.