The sentence remains to this day unfinished. Mr. Creede staggered
into the house, entered the parlor and dropped into an armchair,
trembling in every limb. He had suddenly remembered that Silas
Deemer was three weeks dead.

Mrs. Creede stood by her husband, regarding him with surprise and
anxiety.

"For Heaven's sake," she said, "what ails you?"

Mr. Creede's ailment having no obvious relation to the interests of
the better land he did not apparently deem it necessary to expound it
on that demand; he said nothing--merely stared. There were long
moments of silence broken by nothing but the measured ticking of the
clock, which seemed somewhat slower than usual, as if it were civilly
granting them an extension of time in which to recover their wits.

"Jane, I have gone mad--that is it." He spoke thickly and hurriedly.
"You should have told me; you must have observed my symptoms before
they became so pronounced that I have observed them myself. I
thought I was passing Deemer's store; it was open and lit up--that is
what I thought; of course it is never open now. Silas Deemer stood
at his desk behind the counter. My God, Jane, I saw him as
distinctly as I see you. Remembering that you had said you wanted
some maple sirup, I went in and bought some--that is all--I bought
two quarts of maple sirup from Silas Deemer, who is dead and
underground, but nevertheless drew that sirup from a cask and handed
it to me in a jug. He talked with me, too, rather gravely, I
remember, even more so than was his way, but not a word of what he