I visited at Bartram-Haugh for a year or two, though no one else
would. But when that sort of thing began, of course I gave it up; it was
out of the question. I don't think poor Austin ever knew how bad it was.
And then came that odious business about wretched Mr. Charke. You know
he--he committed suicide at Bartram.'
'I never heard about that,' I said; and we both paused, and she looked
sternly at the fire, and the storm roared and ha-ha-ed till the old house
shook again.
'But Uncle Silas could not help that,' I said at last.
'No, he could not help it,' she acquiesced unpleasantly.
'And Uncle Silas was'--I paused in a sort of fear.
'He was suspected by some people of having killed him'--she completed the
sentence.
There was another long pause here, during which the storm outside bellowed
and hooted like an angry mob roaring at the windows for a victim. An
intolerable and sickening sensation overpowered me.
'But _you_ did not suspect him, Cousin Knollys?' I said, trembling very
much.
'No,' she answered very sharply. 'I told you so before. Of course I did
not.'
There was another silence.
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