“I could have better spared a better man.”          —Henry IV.
I DO not think I called immediately for help. The awful shock of this discovery, coming as it did at the very moment life and hope were strongest within me; the sudden downfall which it brought of all the plans based upon this woman’s expected testimony²; and, worst of all, the dread³ coincidence between this sudden death and the exigency⁴ in which the guilty party, whoever it was, was supposed to be at that hour were much too appalling⁵ for instant action. I could only stand and stare at the quiet face before me, smiling in its peaceful rest as if death were pleasanter than we think, and marvel⁶ over the providence⁷ which had brought us renewed fear instead of relief, complication instead of enlightenment, disappointment instead of realization⁸. For eloquent⁹ as is death, even on the faces of those unknown and unloved by us, the causes and consequences of this one were much too important to allow the mind to dwell upon the pathos¹⁰ of the scene itself. Hannah, the girl, was lost in Hannah the witness.
 
But gradually, as I gazed, the look of expectation which I perceived hovering¹¹ about the wistful mouth and half-open lids attracted me, and I bent¹² above her with a more personal interest, asking myself if she were quite dead, and whether or not immediate¹ medical assistance would be of any avail. But the more closely I looked, the more certain I became that she had been dead for some hours; and the dismay occasioned by this thought, taken with the regrets which I must ever feel, that I had not adopted the bold course the evening before, and, by forcing my way to the hiding-place of this poor creature, interrupted, if not prevented the consummation of her fate, startled me into a realization of my present situation; and, leaving her side, I went into the next room, threw up the window, and fastened to the blind the red handkerchief which I had taken the precaution to bring with me.
 
Instantly a young man, whom I was fain to believe Q, though he bore not the least resemblance, either in dress or facial expression to any renderings¹³ of that youth which I had yet seen, emerged from the tinsmith’s house, and approached the one I was in.
 
Observing him cast a hurried glance in my direction, I crossed the floor, and stood awaiting him at the head of the stairs.
 
“Well?” he whispered, upon entering the house and meeting my glance from below; “have you seen her?”
 
“Yes,” I returned bitterly, “I have seen her!”
 
He hurriedly mounted to my side. “And she has confessed?”
 
“No; I have had no talk with her.” Then, as I perceived him growing alarmed at my voice and manner, I drew him into Mrs. Belden’s room and hastily inquired: “What did you mean this morning when you informed me you had seen this girl? that she was in a certain room where I might find her?”
 
“What I said.”
 
“You have, then, been to her room?”
 
“No; I have only been on the outside of it. Seeing a light, I crawled up on to the ledge¹⁴ of the slanting¹⁵ roof last night while both you and Mrs. Belden were out, and, looking through the window, saw her moving round the room.” He must have observed my countenance¹⁶ change, for he stopped. “What is to pay?” he cried.
 
I could restrain myself no longer. “Come,” I said, “and see for yourself!” And, leading him to the little room I had just left, I pointed¹⁷ to the silent form lying within. “You told me I should find Hannah here; but you did not tell me I should find her in this condition.”
 
“Great heaven!” he cried with a start: “not dead?”
 
“Yes,” I said, “dead.”
 
It seemed as if he could not realize it. “But it is impossible!” he returned. “She is in a heavy sleep, has taken a narcotic——”
 
“It is not sleep,” I said, “or if it is, she will never wake. Look!” And, taking the hand once more in mine, I let it fall in its stone weight upon the bed.
 
The sight seemed to convince him. Calming down, he stood gazing at her with a very strange expression upon his face. Suddenly he moved and began quietly turning over the clothes that were lying on the floor.
 
“What are you doing?” I asked. “What are you looking for?”
 
“I am looking for the bit of paper from which I saw her take what I supposed to be a dose of medicine last night. Oh, here it is!” he cried, lifting a morsel¹⁸ of paper that, lying on the floor under the edge of the bed, had hitherto escaped his notice.
 
“Let me see!” I anxiously exclaimed.
 
He handed me the paper, on the inner surface of which I could dimly discern the traces of an impalpable white powder.
 
“This is important,” I declared, carefully folding the paper together. “If there is enough of this powder remaining to show that the contents of this paper were poisonous, the manner and means of the girl’s death are accounted for, and a case of deliberate suicide made evident.”
 
“I am not so sure of that,” he retorted. “If I am any judge of countenances¹⁹, and I rather flatter myself I am, this girl had no more idea she was taking poison than I had. She looked not only bright but gay; and when she tipped up the paper, a smil............