her. My purpose was not strong enough to
surmount the least difficulty. I was easily deterred from going where I
had little wish to be."

"So that you merely went up the stoop and down again at the time Mr.
Stone saw you?"

"Yes, and if he had passed a minute sooner he would have seen this: seen
me go up, I mean, as well as seen me come down. I did not linger long in
the doorway."

"But you did linger there a moment?"

"Yes; long enough to hunt for the keys and get over my astonishment at
not finding them."

"Did you notice Mr. Stone going by on Twenty-first Street?"

"No."

"Was it as light as Mr. Stone has said?"

"Yes, it was light."

"And you did not notice him?"

"No."

"Yet you must have followed very closely behind him?"

"Not necessarily. I went by the way of Twentieth Street, sir. Why, I do
not know, for my rooms are uptown. I do not know why I did half the
things I did that night."

"I can readily believe it," remarked the Coroner.

Mr. Van Burnam's indignation rose.

"You are trying," said he, "to connect me with the fearful death of my
wife in my father's lonely house. You cannot do it, for I am as innocent
of that death as you are, or any other person in this assemblage. Nor
did I pull those shelves down upon her as you would have this jury
think, in my last thoughtless visit to my father's door. She died
according to God's will by her own hand or by means of some strange and
unaccountable accident known only to Him. And so you will find, if
justice has any place in these investigations and a manly intelligence
be allowed to take the place of prejudice in the breasts of the twelve
men now sitting before me."

And bowing to the Coroner, he waited for his dismissal, and receiving
it, walked back not to his lonely corner, but to his former place
between his father and brother, who received him with a wistful air and
strange looks of mingled hope and disbelief.

"The jury will render their verdict on Monday morning," announced the
Coroner, and adjourned the inquiry.

_BOOK II._

THE WINDINGS OF A LABYRINTH.

XVI.

COGITATIONS.

My cook had prepared for me a most excellent dinner, thinking that I
needed all the comfort possible after a day of such trying experiences.
But I ate little of it; my thoughts were too busy, my mind too much
exercised. What would be the verdict of the jury, and could this
especial jury be relied upon to give a just verdict?

At seven I had