ho sees walls closing in on her, of one bound, who sees
flames creeping closer and closer. In one instant I could see her pass
the line dividing mere mental anguish from insanity; the unmistakable
light of madness shone in her glance. With a cry of delight she seized
the little dagger. She was rushing down the corridor like the wind.
Should I follow her? I hesitated a moment. I heard a long, low cry of
mental agony; all the sounds of a house aroused from slumber by some
dreadful calamity.

Had she gone to Hilyard's room, to die on his threshold? It was silent
once more, except for the exclamations from the different bed-chambers,
and the hurrying sounds of footsteps down the corridor. Then I, too,
following the rest of the household, entered the room of death. Amy sat
curled up on the side of the bed, laughing like a pleased child at the
red stream that trickled from Hilyard's breast among the light bed
coverings, and dripped slowly to the floor.

* * * * *

Although I am never gay any more, I am not unhappy, for I am more than
satisfied with the effect of Hilyard's African drug. It is true that it
did not fulfill with accuracy all that he claimed for it; perhaps I gave
an overdose, or too little. If that is the case, he suffered for not
having been more exact. He should have mentioned, in telling his little
story, the amount necessary. However, as I say, I have no reason to find
fault with its results in this case.

In looking over the effects of the deceased for Mrs. Mershon, I
concluded that I should probably meet with no occasion to use the little
glass phial again, and as the drug seemed to be rather uncertain in its
ultimate effect, I decided, after some reflection, to throw it away, and
accordingly I emptied it out of the laboratory window on the flower-bed
beneath. I half expected to see the rose-bushes wither under it, but it
only shone slimily on the leaves for a while, and then was washed off by
a timely shower.

My friends have not tormented me with condolences, for as one of them
wrote me, the grief that had befallen me was beyond the reach of human
consolation. There are few indeed who lose a friend by death, and a
betrothed wife by madness, in one terrible night. My fidelity, it is
said, is most pathetic, to her who is hopelessly lost to me, for though
years have passed by, I am still so devoted to her memory, that no other
woman has claimed a moment of my attention. An