"If we cannot restore the dead woman to life, we must at least try to save the living woman from unspeakable horrors!" Mr. Berners turned away his head, with a deep groan. And Captain Pendleton continued his seeming efforts to restore consciousness to the prostrate form before him, until he heard the galloping of the horse that took the messenger away for the doctor, and felt sure that the man could not now receive orders to fetch the coroner also. Then Captain Pendleton arose and beckoned Miss Tabby Winterose to come towards him. That lady came forward, whimpering as usual, but with an immeasurably greater cause than she had ever possessed before. "Close her eyes, straighten her limbs, arrange her dress. She is quite dead," said the Captain. Miss Tabby's voice was lifted up in weeping. But wilder yet arose the sound of wailing, as the Scotch girl, with the child in her arms, broke through the crowd and cast herself down beside her dead mistress, crying: "Oh! and is it gone ye are, my bonny leddy? Dead and gone fra us, a' sae suddenly! Oh, bairnie! look down on your puir mither, wham they have murthered--the born deevils." The poor child, frightened as much by the wild wailing of the nurse as by the sight of his mother's ghastly form, began to scream and to hide his head on Janet's bosom. "Woman, this is barbarous. Take the boy away from this sight," exclaimed Captain Pendleton, imperatively. But Janet kept her ground, and continued to weep and wail and apostrophize the dead mother, or appeal to the orphan child. And all the women in the crowd whose tongues had hitherto been paralyzed with horror, now broke forth in tears and sobs, and cries of sympathy and compassion, and-- "Oh, poor murdered young mother! Oh, poor orphaned babe!" or lamentations to the same effect, broke forth on all sides. "Mr. Berners, you are master of the house. I earnestly exhort you to clear the room of all here, except Miss Winterose and ourselves," said Captain Pendleton in an almost commanding tone. "Friends and neighbors," cried Lyon Berners, lifting up his voice, so that it could be heard all over the room, "I implore you to withdraw to your own apartments. Your presence here only serves to distress yourselves and embarrass us. And we have a duty to do to the dead." The crowd began to disperse and move toward the doors when suddenly Sybil Berners lifted her hand on high and called, in a commanding tone: "STOP!" And all stopped and turned their eyes on her. She was still very pale, but now also very calm; the most self-collected one in that room of death. "I have somewhat to say to you," she continued. "You all heard the dying words of that poor dead woman, in which she accused me of having murdered her; and your own averted eyes accuse me quite as strongly, and my own aspect, perhaps, more strongly than either."