Seizing his lantern, he retreated to the cellar stairs by which he had descended, and stood there for a moment, his tongue paralyzed, and his knees smiting each other, in the agony of terror.
We do not know what he was afraid of, but we suppose that instinctive dread which some people manifest in the presence of death, had completely overcome him.

Certainly there was nothing to be afraid of, for a dead man is not half so likely to do a person an injury as a living one.

But in a few minutes Squire Pemberton in some measure recovered his self-possession.
"There is a dead man down here!" he called up the staircase, in quaking tones.
"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Mrs.Pemberton.

"Who is he ?" "I don't know," replied the squire.
"Look and see who it is, father," added Mrs.Pemberton.

"Perhaps he isn't dead." "Stone dead," persisted the squire.