Gnawing his nails, with introverted eyes, his brow marked with
the stamp of tragic indignation and tragic intellectual effort, he stood
there silent. Here was a last injustice; he had been robbed while he was
an orphan at school, he had been lashed to a decadent leather business,
he had been saddled with Miss Hazeltine, his cousin had been defrauding
him of the tontine, and he had borne all this, we might almost say, with
dignity, and now they had gone and killed his uncle!
'Here!' he said suddenly, 'take his heels, we must get him into the
woods. I'm not going to have anybody find this.'
'O, fudge!' said John, 'where's the use?'
'Do what I tell you,' spirted Morris, as he took the corpse by the
shoulders. 'Am I to carry him myself?'
They were close upon the borders of the wood; in ten or twelve paces
they were under cover; and a little further back, in a sandy clearing of
the trees, they laid their burthen down, and stood and looked at it with
loathing.
'What do you mean to do?' whispered John.
'Bury him, to be sure,' responded Morris, and he opened his pocket-knife
and began feverishly to dig.
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