a lavender kid glove, that bad been worn by a
man.

"I will not speak much of my feelings that
night. Hundreds of trivial things came rushing
and crowding into my memory—all of them,
each of them, confirmation that the worst was
true of her.

"Her dejection, her frequent weeping over the
letters, were now accounted for. Had she not
often and often withdrawn from me in the evenings,
and stayed long away, returning with
overladen excuses? Had I not seen her, more than
once of late, drop a letter into the receiving-box
of the post-office, when she might have put it
in my mail-bag at the house? Had I not seen
her nervously starting at the slightest noise,
when seated in the twilight at the window in
her little sitting-room which overlooked the
garden?

"She walked into the house before me, and I
had time to collect myself. I pleaded headache,
and retired into my library. She knew that I
never could bear the presence of any one when
ill, and I was safe from interruption. Amid the
whirling dance of my maddening thoughts, no
idea of revenge on her had any place. I don't
believe in the commonly received opinion that
real love can be changed into hate. I could
not hate her. I even thought with pity of the
outer sorrow that could not fail to be hers in
this world for evermore.

"But him—he escape me! No. How best
to proceed? ' Shall I go and question my
groom, who must from the stables have
sometimes witnessed their stolen interviews?' No,
my instincts revolted at the idea of talking to a
groom about her, fallen angel though she was.
I would do it all myself. My plans were soon
formed. Early next morning I rode to our little
town, and sent back, by my servant, a note to
my wife, stating that I was compelled to start
for London that moment, to make some arrangements
about my voyage, and that I should be
absent at least a week. I then went to the
city of D——, purchased a light-coloured wig,
a large pair of green spectacles, and, disguised
with these and a large beard and moustache,
returned to our village, where I engaged
apartments opposite the post-office. There I
remained on the watch.

"Three days after my supposed departure, my
wife's carriage drove up to the shop kept by the
postmaster. Previous to her entering the shop,
I saw her drop a note into the letter-box. After
a few minutes' delay in making purchases, she
drove off again.

"Late in the afternoon, a tall distinguished-
looking man, with a travelling-cap, its peak
closely drawn down over his face, entered the
shop. I felt this to be my enemy. I saw him
receive a letter from the postmaster's wife, and
hastily walk away. I hurried to the shop,
and, in broken English, asked if there were
letters for Herr von Thirl? She replied in the
negative, but I earnestly requested her to look
over all the letters. This was in order to gain
time for a question or two.

"I inquired who was that fine-looking man
who had just gone out of the shop? She didn't
know; he was a stranger. But was not his name
on his letters? Oh yes; the name was Mr.
Thornton, but he didn't live in the village.
Had he been long in the habit of coming for
letters? Not very long.

"I walked forth in the direction of my home.
It was nearly dusk when I came within sight
of that spot where my bliss in life had been.
Over the wet spongy fields, over crumbling
fences, through swollen water-courses, I had
come, but danger and fatigue were unfelt.
About half a mile from the house, I saw a horse
tied up to a fence. He was with her, then.

"I hid myself close to the bridge for a while,
until darkness should conceal my movements.
I then hurried across and approached the
summer-house noiselessly. They were not there.
No. Of course they were in the house, then.
I was not long left in indecision as to my next
step. The window of her sitting-room (it was
a French window) opened, and there they stood
within a few yards of me, his arm thrown round
her waist. I heard him, I saw him kiss her; I
heard her kiss him; I heard his impassioned
'Good-by,' and then, with the noiseless step of
fate, I hastened by a near cut to the bridge.

"I crossed it, shoved the ends of three planks
off their supports, so that the slightest weight
should tilt them over, and waited about ten
yards off, with a heart whose throbs I heard
above the roaring of the angry flood.

"He came. He made a few steps along the
bridge. Then, a wild cry, a dashing of wood
together, a plunge in the torrent, an interval of
silence; another cry, ' Help, help!' That was
all. I was avenged. No mortal could escape
out of that rock-banked stream, in its then
state.

"Next morning I sent a note to my wife. '
Caroline,' I said, ' I was close to you when you
and he parted last night. I saw everything.
He shall come to you no more. God forgive
you.'

"I left at once, I joined your ship, and I know
I shall never land alive. Don't misunderstand
me. I shall not commit suicide. But his face
—that face which I never saw in life—is with
me ever. And, so closely is the memory of her
entwined with my being, his face bears a likeness
to hers; but, unlike hers, it always wears
a ghastly frown. Lately, it has worn a more
menacing expression. All will soon be over."

And it was soon over (continued the chief
officer); for, one evening at sundown, a man fell
overboard. The ship was going free at the time,
and there was a stiff breeze. As the man passed
the quarter, or rather as the quarter passed him,
it was plain that he could not swim, and his
look of horror as he rose on a wave would have
gone through you. Mr. Aspern was standing
beside me on the poop-deck. He snatched up a
life-buoy and leaped overboard. A boat was
lowered, but it took too long a time; the ship
was brought-to. There were only two oars in