He was
busy looking at the only oil-painting in the room (a youth of
eighteen or so, in a fancy dress), and conjecturing its identity
with the young man so mysteriously dead, when the door opened, and
Mr. Carson returned. Stern as he had looked before leaving the
room, he looked far sterner now. His face was hardened into
deep-purposed wrath.
"I beg your pardon, sir, for leaving you." The superintendent
bowed. They sat down, and spoke long together. One by one the
policemen were called in, and questioned.
All through the night there was bustle and commotion in the house.
Nobody thought of going to bed. It seemed strange to Sophy to hear
nurse summoned from her mother's side to supper, in the middle of
the night, and still stranger that she could go. The necessity of
eating and drinking seemed out of place in the house of death.
When night was passing into morning, the dining-room door opened, and
two persons' steps were heard along the hall. The superintendent
was leaving at last. Mr. Carson stood on the front-door step,
feeling the refreshment of the caller morning air, and seeing the
starlight fade away into dawn.
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