When the paroxysm of coughing was past the hero revealed running eyes, but the tears were of triumph, as was the stoic smile that accompanied them.
And then, while the reformer Merle awaited the calamity he had predicted, while Wilbur surrendered anew to infatuation for this intrepid soul that would dare any crime, while Ben Blunt rocked on spread feet, the glowing pennygrab cocked at a rakish angle, while, in short, vice was crowned and virtue abased, there rang upon the still air the other name of Ben Blunt in cold and fateful emphasis.

The group stiffened with terror.

Again the name sounded along those quiet aisles of the happy dead.

The voice was one of authority--cool, relentless, awful.
"Patricia Whipple!" said the voice.
The twins knew it for the voice of Miss Juliana Whipple, who had remotely been a figure of terror to them even when voiceless.

Juliana was thirty, tall, straight, with capable shoulders, above which rose her capable face on a straight neck.