ng to the scene of the tragedy, I
stepped out upon the balcony which ran in front. Soft voices instantly
struck my ears. The neighbors on either side were grouped in front of
their own windows, and were exchanging the remarks natural under the
circumstances. I paused, as in duty bound, and listened. But I heard
nothing worth recording, and would have instantly re-entered the house,
if I had not been impressed by the appearance of a very graceful woman
who stood at my right. She was clinging to her husband, who was gazing
at one of the pillars before him in a strange, fixed way which
astonished me till he attempted to move, and then I saw that he was
blind. Instantly I remembered that there lived in this row a blind
doctor, equally celebrated for his skill and for his uncommon personal
attractions, and, greatly interested not only in his affliction, but in
the sympathy evinced for him by his young and affectionate wife, I stood
still till I heard her say in the soft and appealing tones of love:

"Come in, Constant; you have heavy duties for to-morrow, and you should
get a few hours' rest, if possible."

He came from the shadow of the pillar, and for one minute I saw his face
with the lamplight shining full upon it. It was as regular of feature as
a sculptured Adonis, and it was as white.

"Sleep!" he repeated, in the measured tones of deep but suppressed
feeling. "Sleep! with murder on the other side of the wall!" And he
stretched out his arms in a dazed way that insensibly accentuated the
horror I myself felt of the crime which had so lately taken place in the
room behind me.

She, noting the movement, took one of the groping hands in her own and
drew him gently towards her.

"This way," she urged; and, guiding him into the house, she closed the
window and drew down the shades, making the street seem darker by the
loss of her exquisite presence.

This may seem a digression, but I was at the time a young man of thirty,
and much under the dominion of woman's beauty. I was therefore slow in
leaving the balcony, and persistent in my wish to learn something of
this remarkable couple before leaving Mr. Hasbrouck's house.

The story told me was very simple. Dr. Zabriskie had not been born
blind, but had become so after a grievous illness which had stricken him
down soon after he received his diploma. Instead of succumbing to an
affliction which would have daunted most men, he expressed his intention
of practising his p