Aaron threw a quick, sour, suspicious look at his interlocutor.
"Am I to answer that question, Miss Ella? he asked, in an aggrieved tone.
"Certainly."
"Well, then, if you must know, sir, he died on the 19th of February," was the answer, grudgingly given.
"The 19th of February. What did you do then?"
"Why, what should we do but put the body into a coffin that had been ordered from London two months before by the Squire's own directions. Hubert ordered it, and it was sent down in a packing-case, and the servants were told that it was a new sort of invalid-chair for the master."
"Oh. And this coffin, nailed down, I suppose, was kept in the room?"
"In the lumber-room off the bed-room; nobody had ever thought o' going in there. We kept the room locked mostly after that."
"Just one moment," interposed Ella. "Was the account you gave me of my uncle's death--what happened the evening it took place--a true one?"
"Every word," answered the old man. "Save that it was in February 'stead o' May, ma'am."