"Grandfather, grandfather!" she whispered hoarsely, knocking on the panel. "Open, it is I—Elsie Stennis! Save me, save me!"
But there was no reply—only silence, and the scurry of a rat behind the wainscot.
She called again, louder than before.
"Grandfather, grandfather! Quick; he will come back! Save me, grandfather!"
But there was utter silence. Even the rat had found a shelter.
Swiftly Elsie stooped. The doors of the old houses of the date of Deep Moat Grange have roomy keyholes. Elsie set her eye to the one which she found empty of a key.
She saw the most part of a bare room—at least, the illuminated square about the room. She saw her grandfather, his head bowed upon his work—his frame still with the stillness of death, and the knife which had done its deadly work lying close by. At his elbow a candle was flickering itself out. Something dripped, and on the floor a darker darkness spread itself slowly out. Even as she looked, the flame rushed upward, like the life of a man which returns not to his nostrils, and all was blank about her.
Elsie would have fainted, but she heard steps on the stair—swift and light—the footsteps of Jeremy returning, and she knew that she must meet him with the smile upon her lips.