Bill needed no second bidding.  His obtuse intellect had gathered that in some way Fanny was in danger, and away he flew over bushes, briers, rocks and ditches.  But alas!  The way was long and dark, and ere he was aware of it, he was precipitated into one of the sink holes which are so common in the limestone soil of Kentucky.  The fall sprained his ankle, but gathering himself up, he continued on, slowly and painfully.

Meantime delirium had again crept over Joseph Dunn, and he forgot that he sent Billy, but concluded he must go himself.  Watching a time when his mother was from the room, he rose, and throwing on his double gown, went forth into the storm, and was soon far on his road toward Mr. Middleton.

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The man of God had scarcely finished the second paragraph of the Episcopal ceremony, beginning with, “I require and charge you both,” etc., when a shriek, wild and unearthly and horrid, rent the air.  It was succeeded by a thunder crash so deafening that the ladies paled with terror.  The large maple tree, which stood by the front door, and which Julia had called hers, was shivered by lightning, but no one heeded it, for again was heard that fearful, maniacal shriek, and this time could be distinguished the sound as of some one struggling with the blacks, who were huddled together in the hall.

“Let me go, I tell you,” said the voice.  “It shall not go on!”

All eyes turned toward the door, as Joseph Dunn appeared, shouting, “Stop it!  Stop it!  She forged those letters.  She broke her sister’s heart.  Stop it, I say!” Every person in the room seemed terror-stricken at the wild spectacle he presented.  His face, wasted to a mere skeleton, was ghastly white, while his long yellow hair hung in matted locks about his brow, and a look of wild frenzy was in his eye, as darting toward the paralyzed Julia, he seized her as with a lion’s grasp and shook her most furiously.

Bill Jeffrey was close behind.  He had lost his hat and the rain had soaked his thick hair until it clung closely to his head, giving him, too, a strange appearance.  Mr. William Middleton now came forward to ask an explanation of Joseph, who, chancing to see Bill, said, “He’s got the letter—­my confession.  Read that—­I am too exhausted,” and he fell upon the floor.

No one noticed him, for all gazed intently at Bill, who drew from his pocket a paper and presented it to Dr. Lacey.  In a calm, clear voice, Dr. Lacey read aloud the confession, in the midst of thunder, lightning, groans, cries and oaths, the latter of which were the spontaneous production of Uncle Joshua, who sat still in his chair until the confession was read through; then with one bound he reached Julia, and raising her from the floor, said, “Speak, Satan, and tell if this is true!”

Julia was overtaken, surrounded on all sides, and there was no way of escape.  Mechanically, she answered, “I am guilty,” while a burst of execration ran round the room.  A stifled moan of agony came from Dr. Lacey’s parted lips, and he asked in a voice which plainly told his suffering, “Oh, why was I suffered to go thus far?  Why, why did no one write?”