His hollow sunken eye seemed to Ellinor to have a vision of the dead man before it.
His cheek was livid and worn, and its healthy colouring gained by years of hearty out-door exercise, was all gone into the wanness of age.

His hair, even to Ellinor, seemed greyer for the past night of wretchedness.
He stooped, and looked dreamily earthward, where formerly he had stood erect.

It needed all the pity called forth by such observation to quench Ellinor's passionate contempt for the course on which she and her father were embarked, when she heard him repeat his words to the servant who came with her broth.
"Fletcher! go to Mrs.Jackson's and inquire if Mr.Dunster is come home yet.

I want to speak to him." "To him!" lying dead where he had been laid; killed by the man who now asked for his presence.

Ellinor shut her eyes, and lay back in despair.
She wished she might die, and be out of this horrible tangle of events.
Two minutes after, she was conscious of her father and Miss Monro stealing softly out of the room.