MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
slowly, but with throbbing heart, I moved across the narrow space, and bent over the motionless figure. What could it mean? The man was clothed in short gray jacket, and long cavalry boots, splashed with mud. Could it be possible this was the same officer who had just passed up the stairs? He lay upon one side, somewhat huddled up, exactly as he had fallen, and I straightened the body, turning the face upward. He was a man not far from my own age apparently, a bit swarthy of complexion, with dark hair and a small black moustache. The jagged gash of a knife wound in the throat told how death had come, yet it must have been sudden, for the features were not distorted. I staggered back to my feet, still staring at him, unable fully to comprehend all the meaning of this situation, yet already dimly realizing its seriousness. However it might have occurred, this act of blood would be charged to me. The moment it was discovered by those below, and my vanishing from the store-room became known, I would be connected with this crime. My first thought was that of immediate escape; it would be ten minutes, perhaps even longer, before those others would become alarmed at his absence, and begin investigating the cause. That would afford me opportunity for the effort. But how could I go? By way of the window, of course; for there, undoubtedly, was where the real murderer had disappeared. I sprang forward, aroused to action by the fear which gripped me, and peered out. Although the night shadows were deceptive I judged it must be fully thirty feet to the ground. As I leaned across the sill my hand touched something moist, and I lifted it
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