Gratia's Trials — page 136: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

GRATIA’S TRIALS. 197 ‘‘Scip knows my ways,” Uncle Ralph was wont to say. ‘‘He understands just where I keep everything, and how I want things handled, I won't have a pack of house-maids peering and peeping about the place.” Early on the morning of this twenty-third day of Decem- ber, therefore, Scipio came leisurely up stairs, with brooms and dusters under his arm, and in his right hand a scuttle- ful of coal, surmounted by kindlings. As he entered the hall he saw a tray of china standing on the third stair of the second flight. He stopped short. ‘*Dat de second time Marianne’s lef’ dat ar cheeny ’bout,” he said, half aloud. ‘‘An’ de little painted set missis is so drefful ch’ice about !” He set down his coal-scuttle long enough to ring the house- maid’s_ bell sharply, and then went on to the library door just beyond, pushing it open with his foot, as he perceived that it was ajar. The next instant coal, kindlings, ites and all went crashing to the floor, as Scipio started back in consterna- tion. For, stretched on the Turkey carpet at his feet, ey the body of a dead man—Ralph Miller’s body ! Quite dead, with his arms thrown out on either side, and his face singularly peaceful, although the half-open eyelids disclosed glassily staring eyes, and the hands were tightly clenched. Scipio noted all these things in the first paroxysm of his terror and aJarm. ‘ ‘Murder! Fire! Help! Robbers!” bawled Scipio, in the unreasoning excess of his consternation. ‘‘Ole massa’s done gone dead in a fit! Go fo’ de doctor, some one. Help me to lif him up on de sofy. Good Lord !” suddenly dropping the hand he had lifted, ‘‘ it’s as cold as stone |” It seemed as though scarcely a minute had elapsed before the room, so lately hushed and silent, was full of eager specta- tors crowding in, im Eomicbooks.co