described the terrible affair in which Romaine slew his wife and
Anderson her paramour--and then killed himself.

I need scarcely say that this encounter with Mrs. Raymond, under such
peculiar circumstances, rather astonished me. I had known her as a lady
of wealth, and the most elegant and fastidious tastes; and yet here I
found her living in an obscure and disreputable portion of the city, and
occupying a house which none but the victims of poverty would ever have
consented to dwell in.

"Wait until I come down and conduct you up stairs," said Mrs. Raymond;
and she disappeared from the window.

In a few moments she opened the door leading to the upper part of the
house; and having warmly shaken hands with me, she desired me to follow
her. I complied, and was shown into an apartment on the second floor.

"This is my room, and my only one; don't laugh at it," said Mrs.
Raymond, with a melancholy smile.

I looked around me. The room was small, but scrupulously clean; and,
notwithstanding the scantiness and humility of the furniture, a certain
air of refinement prevailed. I have often remarked that it is impossible
for a person who has been accustomed to the elegancies of life, to
become so low, in fortune or character, as to entirely lose every trace
of former superiority.

"You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will,
But the scent of the roses will cling 'round it still!"

Mrs. Raymond's apartment merely contained a fine table, two or three
common chairs, a closet, a bed, and a harp--the relic of better and
happier days. The uncarpeted floor was almost as white as snow--and
certainly no snow could be purer or whiter than the drapery of her
unpretending couch.

We sat down--I and my beautiful hostess--and entered into earnest
conversation. I examined the lady with attention. She had lost none of
her former radiant beauty, and I fancied that a shade of melancholy
rather enhanced her charms. Her dress was coarse and plain, but very
neat, like everything else around her. Never before, in the course of my
rather extensive experience, had I beheld a more interesting and
fascinating woman; and never shall I forget that day, as we sat together
in her little room, with the soft sunlight of a delightful May afternoon
pouring in through the windows.

"It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody."

"My dear friend," said Mrs. Raymond, accompanying her words with a look
of the d