IN the gray light of the new morning I closed the Report of myhusband's Trial for the Murder of his first Wife.

No sense of fatigue overpowered me. I had no wish, after my longhours of reading and thinking, to lie down and sleep. It wasstrange, but it was so. I felt as if I _had_ slept, and had nowjust awakened--a new woman, with a new mind.

I could now at last understand Eustace's desertion of me. To aman of his refinement it would have been a martyrdom to meet hiswife after she had read the things published of him to all theworld in the Report. I felt that as he would have felt it. At thesame time I thought he might have trusted Me to make amends tohim for the martyrdom, and might have come back. Perhaps it mightyet end in his coming back. In the meanwhile, and in thatexpectation, I pitied and forgave him with my whole heart.

One little matter only dwelt on my mind disagreeably, in spite ofmy philosophy. Did Eustace still secretly love Mrs. Beauly? orhad I extinguished that passion in him? To what order of beautydid this lady belong? Were we by any chance, the least in theworld like one another?

The window of my room looked to the east. I drew up the blind,and saw the sun rising grandly in a clear sky. The temptation togo out and breathe the fresh morning air was irresistible. I puton my hat and shawl, and took the Report of the Trial under myarm. The bolts of the back door were easily drawn. In anotherminute I was out in Benjamin's pretty little garden.

Composed and strengthened by the inviting solitude and thedelicious air, I found courage enough to face the seriousquestion that now confronted me--the question of the future.

I had read the Trial. I had vowed to devote my life to the sacredobject of vindicating my husband's innocence. A solitary,defenseless woman, I stood pledged to myself to carry thatdesperate resolution through to an end. How was I to begin?

The bold way of beginning was surely the wise way in such aposition as mine. I had good reasons (founded, as I have alreadymentioned, on the important part played by this witness at theTrial) for believing that the fittest person to advise and assistme was--Miserrimus Dexter. He might disappoint the expectationsthat I had fixed on him, or he might refuse to help me, or (likemy uncle Starkweather) he might think I had taken leave of mysenses. All these events were possible. Nevertheless, I held tomy resolution to try the experiment. If he were in the land ofthe living, I decided that my first step at starting should takeme to the deformed man with the strange name.

Supposing he received me, sympathized with me, understood me?What would he say? The nurse, in her evidence, had reported himas speaking in an off-hand manner. He would say, in allprobability, "What do you mean to do? And how can I help you todo it?"

Had I answers ready if those two plain questions were put to me?Yes! if I dared own to any human creatu re what was at that verymoment secretly fermenting in my mind. Yes! if I could confide toa stranger a suspicion roused in me by the Trial which I havebeen thus far afraid to mention even in these pages!

It must, nevertheless, be mentioned now. My suspicion led toresults which are part of my story and part of my life.

Let me own, then, to begin with, that I closed the record of theTrial actually agreeing in one important particular with theopinion of my enemy and my husband's enemy--the Lord Advocate! Hehad characterized the explanation of Mrs. Eustace Macallan'sdeath offered by the defense as a "clumsy subterfuge, in which noreasonable being could discern the smallest fragment ofprobability." Without going quite so far as this, I, too, couldsee no reason whatever in the evidence for assuming that the poorwoman had taken an overdose of the poison by mistake. I believedthat she had the arsenic secretly in her possession, and that shehad tried, or intended to try, the use of it internally, for thepurpose of improving her complexion. But further than this Icould not advance. The more I thought of it, the more plainlyjustified the lawyers for the prosecution seemed to me to be indeclaring that Mrs. Eustace Macallan had died by the hand of apoisoner--although they were entirely and certainly mistaken incharging my husband with the crime.

My husband being innocent, somebody else, on my own showing, mustbe guilty. Who among the persons inhabiting the house at the timehad poisoned Mrs. Eustace Macallan? My suspicion in answeringthat question pointed straight to a woman. And the name of thatwoman was--Mrs. Beauly!

Yes! To that startling conclusion I had arrived. It was, to mymind, the inevitable result of reading the evidence.

Look back for a moment to the letter produced in court, signed"Helena," and addressed to Mr. Macallan. No reasonable person candoubt (though the Judges excused her from answering the question)that Mrs. Beauly was the writer. Very well. The letter offers, asI think, trustworthy evidence to show the state of the woman'smind when she paid her visit to Gleninch.

Writing to Mr. Macallan, at a time when she was married toanother man--a man to whom she had engaged herself before she metwith Mr. Macallan what does she say? She says, "When I think ofyour life sacrificed to that wretched woman, my heart bleeds foryou." And, again, she says, "If it had been my unutterablehappiness to love and cherish the best, the dearest of men, whata paradise of our own we might have lived in, what delicioushours we might have known!"

If this is not the language of a woman shamelessly and furiouslyin love with a man--not her husband--what is? She is so full ofhim that even her idea of another world (see the letter) is theidea of "embracing" Mr. Macallan's "soul." In this condition ofmind and morals, the lady one day finds herself and her embracesfree, through the death of her husband. As soon as she candecently visit she goes visiting; and in due course of time shebecomes the guest of the man whom she adores. His wife is ill inher bed. The one other visitor at Gleninch is a cripple, who canonly move in his chair on wheels. The lady has the house and theone beloved object in it all to herself. No obstacle standsbetween her and "the unutterable happiness of loving andcherishing the best, the dearest of men" but a poor, sick, uglywife, for whom Mr. Macallan never has felt, and never can feel,the smallest particle of love.

Is it perfectly absurd to believe that such a woman as this,impelled by these motives, and surrounded by these circumstances,would be capable of committing a crime--if the safe opportunityoffered itself?

What does her own evidence say?

She admits that she had a conversation with Mrs. EustaceMacallan, in which that lady questioned her on the subject ofcosmetic applications to the complexion." Did nothing else takeplace at that interview? Did Mrs. Beauly make no discoveries(afterward turned to fatal account) of the dangerous experimentwhich her hostess was then trying to improve her ugly complexion?All we know is that Mrs. Beauly said nothing about it.

What does the under-gardener say?

He heard a conversation between Mr. Macallan and Mrs. Beauly,which shows that the possibility of Mrs. Beauly becoming Mrs.Eustace Macallan had certainly presented itself to that lady'smind, and was certainly considered by her to be too dangerous atopic of discourse to be pursued. Innocent Mr. Macallan wouldhave gone on talking. Mrs. Beauly is discreet and stops him.

And what does the nurse (Christina Ormsay) tell us?

On the day of Mrs. Eustace Macallan's death, the nurse isdismissed from attendance, and is sent downstairs. She leaves thesick woman, recovered from her first attack of illness, and ableto amuse herself with writing. The nurse remains away for half anhour, and then gets uneasy at not hearing the invalid's bell. Shegoes to the Morning-Room to consult Mr. Macallan, and there shehears that Mrs. Beauly is missing. Mr. Macallan doesn't knowwhere she is, and asks Mr. Dexter if he has seen her. Mr. Dexterhad not set eyes on her. At what time does the disappearance ofMrs. Beauly take place? At the very time when Christina Ormsayhad left Mrs. Eustace Macallan alone in her room!

Meanwhile the bell rings at last--rings violently. The nurse goesback to the sick-room at five minutes to eleven, or thereabouts,and finds that the bad symptoms of the morning have returned in agravely aggravated form. A second dose of poison--larger than thedose administered in the early morning--has been given during theabsence of the nurse, and (observe) during the disappearance alsoof Mrs. Beauly. The nurse looking out into the corridor for help,encounters Mrs. Beauly herself, innocently on her way from herown room--just up, we are to suppose, at eleven in themorning!--to inquire after the sick woman.

A little later Mrs. Beauly accompanies Mr. Macallan to visit theinvalid. The dying woman casts a strange look at both of them,and tells them to leave her. Mr. Macallan understands this as thefretful outbreak of a person in pain, and waits in the room totell the nurse that the doctor is sent for. What does Mrs. Beaulydo?

She runs out panic-stricken the instant Mrs. Eustace Macallanlooks at her. Even Mrs. Beauly, it seems, has a conscience!

Is there nothing to justify suspicion in such circumstances asthese--circumstances sworn to on the oaths of the witnesses?

To me the conclusion is plain. Mrs. Beauly's hand gave thatsecond dose of poison. Admit this; and the inference follows thatshe also gave the first dose in the early morning. How could shedo it? Look again at the evidence. The nurse admits that she wasasleep from past two in the morning to six. She also speaks of alocked door of communication with the sickroom, the key of whichhad been removed, nobody knew by whom. Some person must havestolen that key. Why not Mrs. Beauly?

One word more, and all that I had in my mind at that time will behonestly revealed.

Miserrimus Dexter, under cross-examination, had indirectlyadmitted that he had ideas of his own on the subject of Mrs.Eustace Macallan's death. At the same time he had spoken of Mrs.Beauly in a tone which plainly betrayed that he was no friend tothat lady. Did _he_ suspect her too? My chief motive in decidingto ask his advice before I applied to any one else was to find anopportunity of putting that question to him. If he really thoughtof her as I did, my course was clear before me. The next step totake would be carefully to conceal my identity--and then topresent myself, in the character of a harmless stranger, to Mrs.Beauly.

There were difficulties, of course, in my way. The first andgreatest difficulty was to obtain an introduction to MiserrimusDexter.

The composing influence of the fresh air in the garden had bythis time made me readier to lie down and rest than to occupy mymind in reflecting on my difficulties. Little by little I grewtoo drowsy to think--then too lazy to go on walking. My bedlooked wonderfully inviting as I passedby the open window of my room.

In five minutes more I had accepted the invitation of the bed,and had said farewell to my anxieties and my troubles. In fiveminutes more I was fast asleep.

A discreetly gentle knock at my door was the first sound thataroused me. I heard the voice of my good old Benjamin speakingoutside.

"My dear! I am afraid you will be starved if I let you sleep anylonger. It is half-past one o'clock; and a friend of yours hascome to lunch with us."

A friend of mine? What friends had I? My husband was far away;and my uncle Starkweather had given me up in despair.

"Who is it?" I cried out from my bed, through the door.

"Major Fitz-David," Benjamin answered, by the same medium.

I sprang out of bed. The very man I wanted was waiting to see me!Major Fitz-David, as the phrase is, knew everybody. Intimate withmy husband, he would certainly know my husband's oldfriend--Miserrimus Dexter.

Shall I confess that I took particular pains with my toilet, andthat I kept the luncheon waiting? The woman doesn't live whowould have done otherwise--when she had a particular favor to askof Major Fitz-David.