Arrived here, she begged me minutely to relate what had happened; and, exhibiting a singular self-control, asked for as close a description of the assassin as I could give.
"You knew him very well?" said I, when an opportunity occurred.
"Yes."
"Perhaps he was your brother?"
"No," she said, and a faint flush flitted into her pallid face for an instant. "No," and then her voice sank to a whisper, "he was to have been my husband."
"Ah! And now, miss, you don't suppose that the assassin could have been an enemy of his? Did he have any enemies, who might rob him, as a blind to cover up their real motive?"
"Tom have an enemy? No—no—he was too good and kind for that. It was done by some murderous wretch for the sake of plunder. Tom must have resisted being robbed, and the ruffian killed him."
"That is my own theory. And—I do not wish to pain you, miss—but what about the body? Has he any family or relations?"
"No, none in this world. He and I were all in all to each other," and the eyes of the girl became moist again; but she fought back the tears, and quite calmly said:
"I will take care of the body."