At any rate, I will first wash away the blood stains, and then I will return to bury the body." He took the lamp and left the cellar, without closing the door.
On reaching the room he found that his master had gone.
The solitude disquieted him, particularly as it was now nearly dark, and he could hardly hope to finish before night cleaning the blood-stained floors and staircase.
He appeared, however, to submit to necessity, and prepared for his work by getting water and brushes.
The evening was far advanced, and still Julio was occupied in scouring.
How it happened he could not understand, but new spots of blood were continually appearing, even in places that he had washed several times.
This was particularly the case in the room where the murder had been committed.

Do what he would, he could not efface the marks of blood.

The sweat poured down his cheeks and he vented his rage in angry words against his master.
It may have been fatigue, or perhaps the deepening shades of night rendered his nervous system sensitive to the slightest impression; for at the least sound of the wind through the leaves of the trees, at the least grating of the weathercock as it turned on its pivot, he stopped his work and looked anxiously around him.
He succeeded, however, in stifling these emotions, and continued his labor on the fatal spot where the chair had stood.
Finally he arose, took the lamp, examined attentively the whole floor, and said, with a kind of satisfaction: "At last I have finished! He who could discover a spot there could see through a stone.

My arms are almost broken; I can scarcely straighten myself.

Now for my last task! a grave is soon filled; in a half hour I shall be far from this accursed place." Saying these words, he left the room, and taking the lamp descended again the staircase leading to the cellar.
When he had reached the middle of the subterranean passage, he suddenly stopped, turned pale from terror, and looked tremblingly around him.