“But, tell me, what became of your husband and who killed Horace?”
“That mystery was not solved until six months ago. I had come to Chicago after the trial was over to get away from all the old environments and the old scenes, in the most miserable health. I found employment here and as soon as my mind became occupied with other things I began to recover. One day I received a telegram which had been forwarded from place to place in search of me. It came from my husband’s physician, and told me to come at once, as Chauncey was dying, and it was his last request that they find me and bring me there at any cost. I went and he confessed before witnesses that he was guilty of the crime for which I had been arrested.
“It seems that Horace never left the house that night, fearing, I suppose, that I might do myself some injury. He saw Chauncey come in intoxicated, and fearing he might do me bodily harm he ran in to warn me. It must have been his raised arm, silently motioning me to fly, which I, in my dazed condition, mistook for Chauncey, and in fear threw up my arm for protection, then fainted. Chauncey staggered in and the sight of Horace there with me so angered him that he picked up the first thing he could lay his hands on, which chanced to be the paper knife, and in his drunken rage he killed him.
“The sight of his crime sobered him and self-protection was his first thought. He placed me on the couch, never stopping to revive me, and fled, leaving me to my fate.
“Ah, well,” she shuddered, “it is all over now. He died repentant in my arms, begging me to forgive him with his last breath.
“Tomorrow I marry Mr. Graves, the attorney who defended me, and God grant that I may be happy. I shall try to deserve it.”
“Amen,” said I.
TALE FOURTEEN.
MY LOVER’S DAUGHTER.
“He