last lingering remains of a great horror fading out
of her eyes, and was not surprised when she walked up to Mr. Orcutt and
said, somewhat hoarsely: "I wish to go home now. This place is a
terrible one to be in."

Mr. Orcutt, who was only too glad to comply with her request, again
offered her his arm. But anxious as they evidently were to quit the
house, they were not allowed to do so without experiencing another
shock. Just as they were passing the door of the room where the wounded
woman lay, the physician in attendance again appeared before them with
that silently uplifted hand.

"Hush!" said he; "she stirs again. I think she is going to speak."

And once more that terrible suspense held each and every one enthralled:
once more that faint, inarticulate murmur eddied through the house,
growing gradually into speech that this time took a form that curdled
the blood of the listeners, and made Mr. Orcutt and the young woman at
his side drop apart from each other as though a dividing sword had
passed between them.

"May the vengeance of Heaven light upon the head of him who has brought
me to this pass," were the words that now rose ringing and clear from
that bed of death. "May the fate that has come upon me be visited upon
him, measure for measure, blow for blow, death for death."

Strange and awe-inspiring words, that drew a pall over that house and
made the dullest person there gasp for breath. In the silence that
followed--a silence that could be felt--the white faces of lawyer and
physician, coroner and detective, turned and confronted each other. But
the young lady who lingered in their midst looked at no one, turned to
no one. Shuddering and white, she stood gazing before her as if she
already beheld that retributive hand descending upon the head of the
guilty; then, as she awoke to the silence of those around her, gave a
quick start and flashed forward to the door and so out into the street
before Mr. Orcutt could rouse himself sufficiently from the stupor of
the moment to follow her.

III.

THE UNFINISHED LETTER.

Faith, thou hast some crotchets in thy head now.
--MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.

"WOULD there be any indiscretion in my asking who that young lady is?"
inquired Mr. Byrd of Mr. Ferris, as, after ascertaining that the
stricken sufferer still breathed, they stood together in a distant
corner of the dining-room.

"No," returned the other, in a l