I had occasion to go to the library at an unusual hour. Crossing over
to the mantel-piece for the purpose of procuring a penknife which I had
carelessly left there in the morning, I heard a noise in the adjoining
room. Knowing that Mr. Leavenworth was out, and supposing the ladies to
be out also, I took the liberty of ascertaining who the intruder was;
when what was my astonishment to come upon Miss Eleanore Leavenworth,
standing at the side of her uncle's bed, with his pistol in her hand.
Confused at my indiscretion, I attempted to escape without being
observed; but in vain, for just as I was crossing the threshold, she
turned and, calling me by name, requested me to explain the pistol to
her. Gentlemen, in order to do so, I was obliged to take it in my hand;
and that, sirs, is the only other occasion upon which I ever saw or
handled the pistol of Mr. Leavenworth." Drooping his head, he waited in
indescribable agitation for the next question.

"She asked you to explain the pistol to her; what do you mean by
that?"

"I mean," he faintly continued, catching his breath in a vain
effort to appear calm, "how to load, aim, and fire it."

A flash of awakened feeling shot across the faces of all present.
Even the coroner showed sudden signs of emotion, and sat staring at the
bowed form and pale countenance of the man before him, with a peculiar
look of surprised compassion, which could not fail of producing its
effect, not only upon the young man himself, but upon all who saw him.

"Mr. Harwell," he at length inquired, "have you anything to add to
the statement you have just made?"