Nearly all that day Elithe stayed in bed, sometimes burning with fever, but oftener shivering with cold, which the ginger tea had not counteracted. She had experienced two great shocks in quick succession and was bodily and mentally unstrung. She saw Paul Ralston fire the fatal shot which had killed Jack Percy. No questioning or cross-questioning from her aunt could leave a doubt in her mind. She saw it and was filled with dread of what her having seen it might mean for her. Second to this, and nearly as great in its effect upon her, was the knowledge that Mr. Pennington was Jack Percy, in whom she knew there was much that was good, notwithstanding the ill that was spoken of him in Oak City. In the dining room below Miss Hansford sat like a sentinel keeping people from going up to see Elithe and answering the questions put to her in the most non-committal manner. They kept coming all the morning and a part of the afternoon, bringing the news from time to time of what was being done at the Percy cottage. Paul was there with Clarice, who had refused to see any one and sat in a dark room crying all the time. There were to be short services at the house early the next day, and then the body was to be taken to Washington and buried at Beechwood, the old Percy homestead, which still belonged to the family. Mrs. Percy was nearly as bad as Clarice, and had a doctor in attendance. To all this and more Miss Hansford listened, evincing no particular interest until the last bulletin was brought her to the effect that the bullet had been extracted and that they were still hunting for the revolver which the ball fitted, but could not find it. “Some think now that it wasn’t suicide, if the jury did so decide. There’s queer things being talked which I don’t believe,” one caller said, with a meaning look at Miss Hansford, who knew that the train was fired which would certainly overtake Paul and crush him.