de widow, who sat quite alone, in a large chamber in the
rear. As I crossed the threshold she looked up, and I encountered a good
plain face, without the shadow of guile in it.

"Madam," said I, "I have not come to disturb you. I will ask two or
three questions only, and then leave you to your grief. I am told that
some words came from the assassin before he delivered his fatal shot.
Did you hear these distinctly enough to tell me what they were?"

"I was sound asleep," said she, "and dreamt, as I thought, that a
fierce, strange voice cried somewhere to some one: 'Ah! you did not
expect _me_!' But I dare not say that these words were really uttered to
my husband, for he was not the man to call forth hate, and only a man in
the extremity of passion could address such an exclamation in such a
tone as rings in my memory in connection with the fatal shot which woke
me."

"But that shot was not the work of a friend," I argued. "If, as these
words seem to prove, the assassin had some other motive than gain in his
assault, then your husband had an enemy, though you never suspected it."

"Impossible!" was her steady reply, uttered in the most convincing tone.
"The man who shot him was a common burglar, and, frightened at having
been betrayed into murder, fled without looking for booty. I am sure I
heard him cry out in terror and remorse: 'God! what have I done!'"

"Was that before you left the side of the bed?"

"Yes; I did not move from my place till I heard the front door close. I
was paralyzed by my fear and dread."

"Are you in the habit of trusting to the security of a latch-lock only
in the fastening of your front door at night? I am told that the big key
was not in the lock, and that the bolt at the bottom of the door was not
drawn."

"The bolt at the bottom of the door is never drawn. Mr. Hasbrouck was so
good a man he never mistrusted any one. That is why the big lock was not
fastened. The key, not working well, he took it some days ago to the
locksmith, and when the latter failed to return it, he laughed, and said
he thought no one would ever think of meddling with his front door."

"Is there more than one night-key to your house?" I now asked.

She shook her head.

"And when did Mr. Hasbrouck last use his?"

"To-night, when he came home from prayer-meeting," she answered, and
burst into tears.

Her grief was so real and her loss so recent that I hesitated to afflict
her by further questions. So returni