creation, and sets us doubting whether other planets are inhabited,
because other planets are not surrounded by an atmosphere which _we_ can
breathe!

After trying such simple remedies as were within her reach, and trying
them without success, Blanche became seriously alarmed. Anne lay, to all
outward appearance, dead in her arms. She was on the point of calling
for help--come what might of the discovery which would ensue--when the
door from the hall opened once more, and Hester Dethridge entered the
room.

The cook had accepted the alternative which her mistress's message had
placed before her, if she insisted on having her own time at her own
sole disposal for the rest of that day. Exactly as Lady Lundie had
desired, she intimated her resolution to carry her point by placing her
account-book on the desk in the library. It was only when this had been
done that Blanche received any answer to her entreaties for help. Slowly
and deliberately Hester Dethridge walked up to the spot where the young
girl knelt with Anne's head on her bosom, and looked at the two without
a trace of human emotion in her stern and stony face.

"Don't you see what's happened?" cried Blanche. "Are you alive or dead?
Oh, Hester, I can't bring her to! Look at her! look at her!"

Hester Dethridge looked at her, and shook her head. Looked again,
thought for a while and wrote on her slate. Held out the slate over
Anne's body, and showed what she had written:

"Who has done it?"