should apply to a gunsmith
for a revolver he would be refused, he stood for some time before the
mirror trying to restore the natural expression of his face. He kneaded
his lips to remove their stiffness, pinched his cheeks to bring back
their color, rubbed down the ridged veins, and scraped a little of the
white plaster from the wall and with it concealed the dark color under
his eyes. Then he went forth with a firm step, bought the revolver
without difficulty, tried it, satisfied himself that it was reliable,
loaded it, put it into his pocket, and returned to his office.

For there were certain matters of property to be attended to. He had a
considerable fortune, all his separate possession; his wife had brought
him nothing. He now felt sufficiently clear-minded to dispose of his
estate intelligently. He drew his will--a holographic instrument--devising
his wealth to various persons and benevolent societies.

He glanced at his office-clock. There would be four long hours yet
before the time for going home to dinner. Fortunately for his plans,
Stockton was to dine with them that evening, and neither of the guilty
ones knew that they had been discovered. How should Randolph employ
these weary hours? There was nothing to do, nothing even to think of.
He tried to read a newspaper, then a book, and failed; looked out upon
the crowds which thronged the street; counted the passing cars awhile;
tried other things, failed at everything, and then sat down.

Something was beginning to work in the wretched man. Let us see: his
wife, while pretending the warmest affection for him, was receiving the
guilty attentions of a traitor in the house; she had betrayed her
husband, had wrecked his life, had driven him to his death. Really,
therefore, she had swept aside all the obligations which the marriage
relation imposed. In essence she was no longer his wife, but a criminal
enemy who, with deliberate and abounding malice, had destroyed him. He
could go to the grave with a willing heart, but he could not permit her
to live and enjoy his downfall and gloat over his destruction.

But would she really do that? And, then,--God!--she was a woman! In
spite of all that she had done, she was a woman! A strong man, his
strength reinforced by a revolver, employs deception to bring a woman
into a room, locks the door, insults, humiliates, and terrifies her,
brandishes a revolver, and then kills her like a rat in its hole. Can a
brave man, of m