"Miriam!"
It was all he said, and then he remained gazing at her, as if he doubted her perfect sanity.
"I am not mad, dear Paul, though you look as if you thought so."
"Explain yourself, dear Miriam."
"I am going to do so. You remember Marian Mayfield?" she said, her face beginning to quiver with emotion.
"Yes! yes! well?"
"You remember the time and manner of her death?"
"Yes—yes!"
"Oh, Paul! that stormy night death fell like scattering lightning, and struck three places at once! But, oh, Paul! such was the consternation and grief excited by the discovery of Marian's assassination, that the two other sudden deaths passed almost unnoticed, except by the respective families of the deceased. Child as I then was, Paul, I think it was the tremendous shock of her sudden and dreadful death, that threw me entirely out of my center, so that I have been erratic ever since. She was more than a mother to me, Paul; and if I had been born hers, I could not have loved her better—I loved her beyond all things in life. In my dispassionate, reflective moments. I am inclined to believe that I have never been quite right since the loss of Marian. Not but that I am reconciled to it—knowing that she must be happy—only, Paul, I often feel that something is wrong here and here," said Miriam, placing her hand upon her forehead and upon her heart.
"But your promise, Miriam—your promise," questioned Paul, with increased anxiety.