On this second day’s quest they observe nothing new, either to throw additional light on the commission of the crime, or assist them in recovering the corpse.
It is but an unsatisfactory report to take back to the mother of the missing man. Perhaps better for her she should never receive it?
And she never does. Before it can reach her ear, this is beyond hearing sound. The thunder of heaven could not awake Mrs Clancy from the sleep into which she has fallen. For it is no momentary unconsciousness, but the cold insensible slumber of Death.
The long-endured agony of ill fortune, the more recent one of widowhood, and, now, this new bereavement of a lost, only son—these accumulated trials have proved too much for her woman’s strength, of late fast failing.
When, at evening hour, the searchers, on their return, approach the desolated dwelling, they hear sounds within that speak of some terrible disaster.
On the night before their ears were saluted by the same, though in tones somewhat different. Then the widow’s voice was lifted in lamentation; now it is not heard at all.
Whatever of mystery there may be is soon removed. A woman, stepping out upon the porch, and, raising her hand in token of attention, says, in sad solemn voice,—
“Mrs Clancy is dead!”