“For Burton’s sake, I must bear it always, and alone.  He must never know what I know.  No one must ever know, and may God forgive me if I am doing wrong!” And falling upon her knees, with her head upon Rover’s neck, the wretched girl prayed earnestly for grace to know what was right, and strength to do it.

And He who hears every sincere cry for help, even though His ear may seem deaf, and the heavens brass, sending back the cry like an unmeaning sound, gave her the strength needful for the hour, and a feeling of calmness stole over her, making her quiet, and even fearless of the stiffened form lying so near her upon the floor.

But when, a few minutes later, her father appeared in the door, with a candle in his hand, and said to her, “I have done all I can do alone; you must help me now,” the old terror came back, and staggering to her feet, she asked: 

“What do you wish me to do?”

“Help carry him into the next room,” her father replied, and then forgetting Burton, forgetting everything, she burst out again: 

“Oh, father, will it not be better to tell the truth, at once?  The fact that you do so will go a long way toward clearing you.  The people all respect you so much, and they know he was quarrelsome and insulting at times.  Think, father, think!”

“I have thought,” he answered, “and I tell you I cannot be hanged!” then going swiftly to his bed-room he came back with a Bible in his hand, and standing before the white-faced girl, said to her:  “I see I cannot trust you, unless you swear upon this book, never, while I live, to breathe to any living person what has been done here to-night.  When I am dead do what you like, but swear now, as you hope for heaven, never to tell!”

And Hannah took the oath which he dictated to her, and kissed the sacred book which seemed to burn her lips as she did so.  She had sworn.  She would keep the vow to the end, and her father knew it, and with this fear lifted from his mind he became almost cheerful in his manner, as he explained to her what she was to do.

And Hannah obeyed him, and with limbs which trembled in every joint went with him to the attic and helped him bring down some boards which had lain there for years and on which she and Burton had played many an hour in days gone by.  She knew what he was going to do with them, and without a word held the light while he fashioned the rude coffin in which he laid the dead man, but not until she had with her own hands reverently and tenderly washed the blood from the ghastly face and bound about the wound upon the temple a handkerchief which she found in his pack.  Then, after the body was placed in the box, she took a pillow from her father’s bed, and putting on it a clean covering and placing it under the peddler’s head, folded his hands upon his breast, and kneeling beside the box bowed her head upon the boards and began the Lord’s Prayer.

It was her burial service for the dead, all she could think of, and for a moment her father stood staring at her as if stupefied with what he saw; then his features relaxed, and falling on his knees beside her he cried out piteously: