The silence of the corpse before them was not deeper than that which her
unexpected presence occasioned. There she stood gazing on the dead body
of her father, evidently torn by the pangs of agony and remorse, her
hands clenching and opening by turns, her wild and unwinking eyes
riveted upon those moveless features, which his love for her had so
often lit up with happiness and pride. Her mother, who was alarmed,
shocked, stunned, gazed upon her, but could not speak. At length she
herself broke the silence.
"Mother," said she, "I came to see my father, for I know he won't strike
me now, and he never did. O, no, because I ran away from him and from
all of you, but not till after I had deserved it; before that I was
safe. Mother, didn't my father love me once better than his own life?
I think he did. O, yes, and I returned it by murdering him--by sending
him--that father there that loved me so well--by--by sending him to the
hangman--to a death of disgrace and shame. That's what his own Nannie,
as he used to call me, did for him. But no shame---no guilt to you,
father; the shame and the guilt are your own Nannie's, and that's the
only comfort I have; for you're happy, what I will never be, either in
this world or the next.
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