They both echoed the word involuntarily.
“Yes; but the curious part of the affair has yet to be told. They found her lying, as if sleeping, in her bed; so sweet, so quiet, so peaceful, no one in the world would have dreamed that she had been destroyed by a malignant poison. Such, however, was the case.”
Santley buttoned his coat, and moved nervously towards the door.
“A horrible story!” he said. “I detest these tales of violence and murder. Besides, though I am not a Roman Catholic, I look upon such rubbish as a calumny upon the Christian Church.”
I smiled.
“The Church’s history, I am afraid, offers endless corroborations.”
“I do not believe it; and I hold that the Church should be saved from such attacks.”
“Pardon me,” I persisted; while Ellen’s hand was softly laid upon my shoulder, as if beseeching me to cease, “the Church may be sacred, but so, you will admit, is the marriage tie. For myself, I am old-fashioned enough to sympathize with that poor alchemist, and applaud his rough-and-ready mode of vengeance.”
“Then you justify a cowardly murder?” he returned, trembling violently. “But, there, I must really go.”
“Pardon me, I don’t call it murder at all.”