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"Bury him under the floor of my room, over in the corner where the bed
always stands," the father replied so calmly that Hannah looked at him
wonderingly to see if he were utterly void of feeling, that he could
speak so quietly of what filled her with unspeakable dread.
But he was neither callous nor unconcerned. He was merely stunned with
the magnitude and suddenness of his crime, and the natural fear of its
detection. The repentance, the remorse were to come afterward, and be
meted out to him in such measure of bitterness as has seldom fallen to
the lot of man. Regarding his daughter fixedly for a moment, he said in
a hard, reckless kind of way:
"Hannah, there is no use in whimpering now. The deed is done, and cannot
be undone; though, God is my witness, I would give my life in a moment
for the one I have taken, if I could, and I swear to you solemnly that I
wish I had been the one killed rather than the one to kill. But it was
not to be so. I have slain my friend. The world would call it murder, as
you did, and hang me.


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