indeed inclined to give up the idea that the inspector would call again that night, as it was already past nine o'clock.
She stood by her father, holding on to the back of his chair.
"You will go to bed soon, papa, won't you? Don't sit up alone!"
What his answer was she did not hear; the words were lost in the far smaller point of sound that magnified itself to her fears, and filled her brain. There was a low ring at the door-bell.
She kissed her father and glided down stairs, with a rapidity of motion of which no one would have thought her capable, who had seen her the minute before. She put aside Dixon.
"Don't come; I will open the door. I know it is him—I can—I must manage it all myself."
"As you please, miss!" said Dixon testily; but in a moment afterwards, she added, "But you're not fit for it. You are more dead than alive."
"Am I?" said Margaret, turning round and showing her eyes all aglow with strange fire, her cheeks flushed, though her lips were baked and livid still.
She opened the door to the Inspector, and preceded him into the study. She placed the candle on the table, and snuffed it carefully, before she turned round and faced him.
"You are late!" said she. "Well?" She held her breath for the answer.
"I'm sorry to have given any unnecessary trouble, ma'am; for, after all, they've given up all thoughts of holding an inquest. I have had other work to do
