escaped from its confinement, and was floating over the table and her
own person. She took no notice of the disturbance made by our entrance,
did not turn, did not raise her head, nor make an effort to do so, nor
by any sign whatever intimate that she was conscious of our presence,
until the turnkey in a respectful tone announced me. Upon that a low
groan, or rather a feeble moan, showed that she had become aware of my
presence, and relieved me from all apprehension of causing too sudden a
shock by taking her in my arms. The turnkey had now retired; we were
alone. I knelt by her side, threw my arms about her, and pressed her to
my heart. She drooped her head upon my shoulder, and lay for some time
like one who slumbered; but, alas! not as she had used to slumber. Her
breathing, which had been like that of sinless infancy, was now
frightfully short and quick; she seemed not properly to breathe, but to
gasp. This, thought I, may be sudden agitation, and in that case she
will gradually recover; half an hour will restore her. Wo is me! she
did _not_ recover; and internally I said--she never _will_
recover. The arrows have gone too deep for a frame so exquisite in its
sensibility, and already her hours are numbered.

At this first visit I said nothing to her about the past; _that_,
and the whole extent to which our communications should go, I left
rather to her own choice. At the second visit, however, upon some word
or other arising which furnished an occasion for touching on this
hateful topic, I pressed her, contrary to my own previous intention,
for as full an account of the fatal event as she could without a
distressing effort communicate. To my surprise she was silent--
gloomily--almost it might have seemed obstinately silent. A horrid
thought came into my mind; could it, might it have been possible that
my noble-minded wife, such she had ever seemed to me, was open to
temptations of this nature? Could it have been that in some moment of