He stole swiftly out of the room,
closing the door after him. Faint as was the sound, Mrs. Jasher
heard it and opened her eyes.
"Do not go, Random," she said faintly. "I have yet much to say,
although the confession will tell you all. I am half sorry I
wrote it out--at least I was--and perhaps should have burnt it
had I not met with this accident."
"Accident!" echoed Sir Frank scornfully. "Murder you mean."
The sinister word galvanized the dying woman in sudden strong
life, and she reared herself again on the bed.
"Murder! Yes, it is murder," she cried loudly. "He killed
Sidney Bolton to get the emeralds, and he killed me to make me
close my mouth."
"Who stabbed you? Speak! speak!" cried Random anxiously.
"Cockatoo. He is guilty of my death and Bolton's," and she fell
back, dead.
CHAPTER XXV
THE MILLS OF GOD
In the cold gray hours of the morning, Hope and his friend left
the cottage wherein such a tragedy had taken place. The dead
woman was lying stiff and white on her bed under a winding sheet,
which had already been strewn with many-hued chrysanthemums taken
from the pink parlor by the weeping Jane. The wretched woman who
had led so stormy and unhappy a life had at least one sincere
mourner, for she had always been kind to the servant, who formed
her entire domestic staff, and Jane would not hear a word said
against the dead.
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