Immediately, Eleanore Leavenworth sank back, a pink spot breaking out on either cheek; while a slight murmur testified to the disappointment of those in the room, who were more anxious to have their curiosity gratified than the forms of law adhered to.
Satisfied with having done his duty, and disposed to be easy with so charming a witness, the coroner repeated his question. "Tell us, if you please, if you saw any such thing in her hand?"
"I? Oh, no, no; I saw nothing."
Being now questioned in relation to the events of the previous night, she had no new light to throw upon the subject. She acknowledged her uncle to have been a little reserved at dinner, but no more so than at previous times when annoyed by some business anxiety.
Asked if she had seen her uncle again that evening, she said no, that she had been detained in her room. That the sight of him, sitting in his seat at the head of the table, was the very last remembrance she had of him.
There was something so touching, so forlorn, and yet so unobtrusive, in this simple recollection of hers, that a look of sympathy passed slowly around the room.
I even detected Mr. Gryce softening towards the inkstand. But Eleanore Leavenworth sat unmoved.
"Was your uncle on ill terms with any one?" was now asked. "Had he valuable papers or secret sums of money in his possession?"
To all these inquiries she returned an equal negative.
"Has your uncle met any stranger lately, or received any important letter during the last few weeks, which might seem in any way to throw light upon this mystery?"
There was the slightest perceptible hesitation in her
