"Came to before he died--wish he hadn't--put me to a deal of trouble--sent for a magistrate--then for a minister--had something on his mind--couldn't die without telling it, you know; then there was oaths, depositions--so much trouble.

Are you his relation--want an order for the body ?" "Oaths! magistrate!--a confession no doubt," thought Lizzie; her limbs trembled; she was so overcome with terror that she could scarcely stand; clinging to the railing of the desk by which she was standing for support, she asked, hesitatingly, "He had something to confess then ?" The janitor looked at her for a few moments attentively, and seemed to notice for the first time her ladylike appearance and manners; a sort of reserve crept over him at the conclusion of his scrutiny, for he made no answer to her question, but simply asked, with more formality than before, "Are you a relation--do you want an order for the body ?" Ere Lizzie could answer his question, a man, plainly dressed, with keen grey eyes that seemed to look restlessly about in every corner of the room, came and stood beside the janitor.

He looked at Lizzie from the bow on the top of her bonnet to the shoes on her feet; it was not a stare, it was more a hasty glance--and yet she could not help feeling that he knew every item of her dress, and could have described her exactly.
"Are you a relative of this person," he asked, in a clear sharp voice, whilst his keen eyes seemed to be piercing her through in search of the truth.
"No, sir," she answered, faintly.
"A friend then, I presume," continued he, respectfully.
"An acquaintance," returned she.

The man paused for a few moments, then taking out his watch, looked at the time, and hastened from the office.
This man possessed Lizzie with a singular feeling of dread--why she could not determine; yet, after he was gone, she imagined those cold grey eyes were resting on her, and bidding the old janitor, who had grown reserved so suddenly, good morning, she sprang into her carriage as fast as her trembling limbs could carry her, and ordered the coachman to drive back to the hotel.
"Father must fly!" soliloquized she; "the alarm will, no doubt, lend him energy.

I've heard of people who have not been able to leave their rooms for months becoming suddenly strong under the influence of terror.