He took no interest in anything; if he was asked any questions about the
garden, he would say, "What does it matter? _she_ cannot see it now."

"Indeed, my lord," said Miss Blake, in her agitation probably
confounding the coroner with the chief justice, "it was just pitiful to
see the creature; I am sure his ways got to be heart-breaking."

"After my sister's death," Miss Blake resumed, after a pause, devoted by
herself, the jury, and the coroner to sentiment, "Robert Elmsdale gave
up his office in London, and brought his business home. I do not know
why he did this. He would not, had she been living, because he always
kept his trade well out of her sight, poor man. Being what she was, she
could not endure the name of it, naturally. It was not my place to say
he shouldn't do what he liked in his own house, and I thought the
excitement of building a new room, and quarrelling with the builder, and
swearing at the men, was good for him. He made a fireproof place for his
papers, and he fitted up the office like a library, and bought a
beautiful large table, covered with leather; and nobody to have gone in
would have thought the room was used for business. He had a Turkey
carpet on the floor, and chairs that slipped about on castors; and he
planned a covered way out into the road, with a separate entrance for
itself, so that none of us ever knew who went out or who came in. He
kept his affairs secret as the grave."

"No," in answer to the coroner, who began to think Miss Blake's
narrative would never come to an end. "I heard no shot: none of us
did: we all slept away from that part of the house; but I was restless
that night, and could not sleep, and I got up and looked out at the
river, and saw a flare of light on it. I thought it odd he was not
gone to bed, but took little notice of the matter for a couple of