"No, no," Hannah said, and her cheek paled a little. "It is not necessary for you to sleep there. No one will ever do that again. I shall always keep it as he left it."
Grey knew what she meant, but made no comment, and as he seemed very tired Hannah soon left him to rest.
Naturally strong and full of vigor, Grey's recovery was rapid, and in ten days from the time the fever left him, his father drove him to the farm-house, where Hannah was expecting him, with the south room made as cheerful as possible, and a most tempting lunch spread for him upon a little round table before the fire. Mr. Jerrold was going to Boston that afternoon, and so Grey was left alone with his aunt, as he wished to be, for he meant to tell her that he, too, shared her secret, and after his father had gone and his lunch was over, he burst out suddenly: "Auntie, there is something I must tell you. I can't keep it any longer. I was here the night grandpa died. I was in the kitchen, and heard about--about that under the floor!"
"Grey!" Hannah gasped, as her work dropped from her nerveless hands, which shook violently.
"Yes," Grey went on. "I wanted to come with father, but he said no, and so I went to my room but could not go to bed, for I knew grandpa was dying, and I wished to see him, and I stole out the back way, and came across the fields and into the kitchen, where I stood warming myself by the stove and heard you all talking in the next room. I did not mean to listen, but I could not help it, and I heard grandpa say: 'Thirty-one years ago, to-night, I killed a man in the kitchen yonder, and buried him under the floor, under my bed, and have slept over him ever since.' You see I remember his very words, they affected me so much, I thought the floor came up and struck me in the face, and that my throat would burst with the lump which almost strangled me. I did not hear any more, for I ran from the house into the open air where I could breathe, and went back to Grey's Park, and up to my room without being missed at all. I thought I should die, and that was what made me sick, and why I did not come here till the funeral and why I did not want to see grandpa. I was so disappointed, so shocked, and afraid he was not in heaven, till I heard what Mr. Sanford said, and, auntie, I must tell you all, I thought dreadful things of you, too, because you knew. I thought you were what they said 'Old 'Scape Gallows' was, an accomplice."