d to
move him and turn his thoughts for a moment into a different channel.

"Poor child!" he murmured, stretching out his hands by an irresistible
impulse towards her. But the change was but momentary, and he was soon
again the stern and determined self-accuser. "Are you going to take me
before a magistrate?" he asked. "If so, I have a few duties to perform
which you are welcome to witness."

"I have no warrant," I said; "besides, I am scarcely the one to take
such a responsibility upon myself. If, however, you persist in your
declaration, I will communicate with my superiors, who will take such
action as they think best."

"That will be still more satisfactory to me," said he; "for though I
have many times contemplated giving myself up to the authorities, I have
still much to do before I can leave my home and practice without injury
to others. Good-day; when you want me, you will find me here."

He was gone, and the poor young wife was left crouching on the floor
alone. Pitying her shame and terror, I ventured to remark that it was
not an uncommon thing for a man to confess to a crime he had never
committed, and assured her that the matter would be inquired into very
carefully before any attempt was made upon his liberty.

She thanked me, and, slowly rising, tried to regain her equanimity; but
the manner as well as the matter of her husband's self-condemnation was
too overwhelming in its nature for her to recover readily from her
emotions.

"I have long dreaded this," she acknowledged. "For months I have
foreseen that he would make some rash communication or insane avowal. If
I had dared, I would have consulted some physician about this
hallucination of his; but he was so sane on other points that I
hesitated to give my dreadful secret to the world. I kept hoping that
time and his daily pursuits would have their effect and restore him to
himself. But his illusion grows, and now I fear that nothing will ever
convince him that he did not commit the deed of which he accuses
himself. If he were not blind I would have more hope, but the blind have
so much time for brooding."

"I think he had better be indulged in his fancies for the present," I
ventured. "If he is laboring under an illusion it might be dangerous to
cross him."

"_If?_" she echoed in an indescribable tone of amazement and dread. "Can
you for a moment harbor the idea that he has spoken the truth?"

"Madam," I returned, with something of the cynicis