“Don’t you see that the noise you make will do harm?” she cried. “It may hurt the--the poor gentleman who is--so ill. It will warn the--the man who did it if he should be here. Oh, go away, go away, for God’s sake. What do you want here? Go away! oh, go away!” She went out in her excitement, moving them towards the garden door, which still stood open, haunted by some mere lookers-on to whom the news had been carried by the extraordinary rapidity of rumor, which would call forth a crowd in the midst of a desert. Though she was so slight and young, so little able to influence them, yet they yielded before her, moving out, indistinguishable in the darkness, obeying the natural right of a member of the household to clear its precincts, though with a little grumbling and remonstrance. “We want to get hold on the murderer.” “We want to see as he doesn’t escape.” “He’s far enough off by this,” cried a sceptic. “The police get hold on a fellow like that! not as I ever heard tell on.” “Oh, go away, go away,” cried Janet, following them to the door. She pushed it close after them, shutting it with a sharp snap, comforted a little to have got rid of so many at least; but not, it seemed of all. As she turned back some one caught her by the arm. All Janet’s composure, her courage, her over-mastering resolution not to betray herself, could not withstand this new shock. She gave a cry. It seemed to her in her dreadful agitation as if the next thing would be that some one would thunder, “You are the woman who was with him” in her ear. It seemed almost tame to her that the tragic whisper she heard, hoarse and miserable, emphasized by another crushing pressure of her arm, was “Is he dead? Is he dead?” and no more. CHAPTER XXXIII. There is nothing in the world that so suddenly sobers wild excitement and passion as to carry out its practical suggestions. A blow brings down the pulses of wrath as nothing else can do. It is a dangerous remedy, but it is a sure one.