e spoke with the rapid tongue and impressive gesticulation of her
country, and God's truth was stamped on every word. I felt it,--I knew
it. She was no base, lying impostor. She was a wronged and suffering
woman;--and he,--the idol of my soul,--the friend, lover, _husband_ of
my youth,--no, no! he could not be a villain! She was mad,--ha, ha,--she
was mad! Bursting into a wild, hysteric laugh, I sunk back on the sofa,
repeating,--

"'Poor thing, she is mad! I wonder I did not know it sooner.'

"'No, madam, I am not mad,' she cried, in calmer tones; 'I sometimes
wish I were. I am in the full possession of my reason, as I can
abundantly prove. But little more than three years since, I was married
to Gabriel Henry St. James, in Paris, my native city, and here is the
certificate which proves the truth of my assertion.'

"Taking a paper from her pocket-book, she held it towards me, so that I
could read the writing, still retaining it in her own hand. I did not
blame her,--oh, no! I should have done the same. I saw, what seemed
blazing in fire, the names of Henry Gabriel St. James and Theresa
Josephine La Fontaine united in marriage by the usual formula of the
church.

"I did not attempt to snatch it from her, or to destroy the fatal paper.
I gazed upon it till the characters swelled out like black chords, and
writhed in snaky convolutions.

"'Do you recognize this?' she asked, taking from her bosom a gold case,
and touching a spring. It flew open and revealed the handsome features
of St. James, beaming with the same expression as when I first beheld
him, an expression I remembered but too well. She turned it in the case,
and I saw written on the back in gold letters, 'For my beloved wife,
Theresa Josephine.'

"It was enough. The certificate might be a forgery, her tale a lie; but
this all but breathing picture, these indubitable words, were proofs of
blasting power. Cold, icy shiverings ran through my frame,--a cold,
benumbing weight pressed down my heart,--a black abyss opened before
me,--the earth heaved and gave way beneath me. With a shriek that seemed
to breathe out my life, I fell forward at the feet of her whom I had so
guiltlessly wronged."

* * * * *

Thus far had I read, with clenching teeth and rigid limbs, and brow on
which chill, deadly drops were slowly gathering, when my mother's shriek
seemed suddenly to ring in my ears,--the knell of a broken heart, a
ruined frame,--a