eceived many wounds."

"I can't say; the particulars will be elicited soon enough; those details
are for the inquest; as for me, I hate such spectacles," said Marston,
gloomily; "go now, and see your sister; you will find her there."

He pointed to the small room where we have first seen her and her fair
governess; Charles obeyed the direction, and Marston proceeded himself to
his wife's sitting room.

The young man, dispirited and horrified by the awful spectacle he had
just contemplated, hurried to the little study occupied by his sister.
Marston himself ascended, as we have said, the great staircase leading to
his wife's private sitting room.

"Mrs. Marston," he said, entering, "this is a hateful occurrence, a
dreadful thing to have taken place here; I don't mean to affect grief
which I don't feel; but the thing is very shocking, and particularly so,
as having occurred under my roof; but that cannot now be helped. I have
resolved to spare no exertions, and no influence, to bring the assassin
to justice; and a coroner's jury will, within a few hours, sift the
evidence which we have succeeded in collecting. But my purpose in seeking
you now is, to recur to the conversation we yesterday had, respecting a
member of this establishment."

"Mademoiselle de Barras?" suggested the lady.

"Yes, Mademoiselle de Barras," echoed Marston; "I wish to say, that,
having reconsidered the circumstances affecting her, I am absolutely
resolved that she shall not continue to be an inmate of this house."

He paused, and Mrs. Marston said--

"Well, Richard, I am sorry, very sorry for it; but your decision shall
never be disputed by me."

"Of course," said Marston, drily; "and, therefore, the sooner you
acquaint her with it, and let her know that she must go, the better."

Having said this, he left her, and went to his own chamber, where he
proceeded to make his toilet with elaborate propriety, in preparation for
the scene which was about to take place under his roof.

Mrs. Marston, meanwhile, suffered from a horrible uncertainty. She never
harbored, it is true, one doubt as to her husband's perfect innocence of
the ghastly crime which filled their house with fear and gloom; but at
the same time that she thoroughly and indignantly scouted the possibility
of his, under any circumstances, being accessory to such a crime, she
experienced a nervous and agonizing anxiety lest anyone else should
possibly suspect him, however obliquely