Norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive back as fast as they could. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave. She nursed at his neck as he peacefully slumbered through being killed. The low ceiling made him seem abnormally tall. Pale, flesh-colored light filtered in through the corners of the house.
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