already have his brother's. He knew that his wife
had come to New York to appeal to his father, and he gathered from what
she said that she intended to do this either in his house or on the
dock. To cut short any opportunity she might have for committing the
first folly, he begged the key of the house from his brother, and,
supposing that he had it all right, went to his rooms, not to Coney
Island as he said, and began to pack up his trunks. For he meant to flee
the country if his wife disgraced him. He was tired of her caprices and
meant to cut them short as far as he was himself concerned. But the
striking of the midnight hour brought better counsel. He began to wonder
what she had been doing in his absence. Going out, he haunted the region
of Gramercy Park for the better part of the night, and at daybreak
actually mounted the steps of his father's house and prepared to enter
it by means of the key he had obtained from his brother. But the key was
not in his pocket, so he came down again and walked away, attracting the
attention of Mr. Stone as he did so. The next day he heard of the
tragedy which had taken place within those very walls; and though his
first fears led him to believe that the victim was his wife, a sight of
her clothes naturally dispelled this apprehension, for he knew nothing
of her visit to the Hotel D---- or of the change in her habiliments
which had taken place there. His father's persistent fears and the quiet
pressure brought to bear upon him by the police only irritated him, and
not until confronted by the hat found on the scene of death, an article
only too well known as his wife's, did he yield to the accumulated
evidence in support of her identity. Immediately he felt the full force
of his unkindness towards her, and rushing to the Morgue had her poor
body taken to that father's house and afterwards given a decent burial.
But he could not accept the shame which this acknowledgment naturally
brought with it, and, blind to all consequences, insisted, when brought
up again for examination, that he was the man with whom she came to that
lonely house. The difficulties into which this plunged him were partly
foreseen and partly prepared for, and he showed some skill in
surmounting them. But falsehoods never fit like truths, and we all felt
the strain on our credulity as he met and attempted to parry the
Coroner's questions.

"And now, Miss Butterworth, let me again ask if your turn has not come
at