an asylum. It flashed into his mind that his wife had been deceiving
him, had been pretending a faint, when she was as strong of limb and
clear of intellect as when they left Mr. Birtwell's. At this thought
the half-expelled devil that had been controlling him leaped back
into his heart, filling it again with evil passions. But the wind
was driving the fine, sand-like, sharp-cutting snow into his face
with such force and volume as to half suffocate and bewilder him.
Turning at this moment a corner of the street that brought him into
the clear sweep of the storm, the wind struck him with a force that
seemed given by a human hand, and threw him staggering against his
wife, both falling.

Struggling to his feet, General Abercrombie cursed his wife as he
jerked her from the ground with a sudden force that came near
dislocating her arm. She gave no word of remonstrance nor cry of
pain or fear, but did all in her power to keep up with her husband
as he drove on again with mad precipitation.

How they got home Mrs. Abercrombie hardly knew, but home they were
at last and in their own room, the door closed and locked and the
key withdrawn by her husband, out of whose manner all the wild
passion had gone. His movements were quiet and his voice when he
spoke low, but his wife knew by the gleam of his restless eyes that
thought and purpose were active.

Their room was in the third story of a large boarding-house in a
fashionable part of the city. The outlook was upon the street. The
house was double, a wide hall running through the centre. There were
four or five large rooms on this floor, all occupied. In the one
adjoining theirs were a lady and gentleman who had been at Mr. and