I will not offend again. I
acknowledge that I have committed a grievous sin; but Heaven only knows
how sincerely I repent of it!"

"Your repentance comes too late," said Romaine, hoarsely--"Heaven may
forgive you, but _I_ shall not! You say that you will not offend again.
Having forever destroyed my happiness, my peace of mind, and my honor,
_you will not offend again_! You shall not have the opportunity,
wretched woman. You shall no longer survive your infamy. You and the
partner of your guilt must die!"

With these words, Romaine cocked his pistol and approached his wife,
saying, in a low, savage tone that evinced the desperate purpose of his
heart--

"Take your choice, madam; do you prefer to die by _lead_ or by _steel_?"

The miserable woman threw herself upon her knees, exclaiming--

"Mercy, husband--mercy! Do not kill me, for I am not prepared to die!"

"You call me husband _now_--you, who have so long refused to receive me
as a husband. Come--I am impatient to shed your blood, and that of your
paramour. Breathe a short prayer to Heaven, for mercy and forgiveness,
and then resign your body to death and your soul to eternity!"

So saying the desperate and half-crazy man raised on high the glittering
knife. Poor Mrs. Romaine uttered a shriek, and, before she could repeat
it, the knife descended with the swiftness of lightning, and penetrated
her heart. Her blood spouted all over her white dress, and she sank down
at the murderer's feet, a lifeless corpse!

Paralyzed with horror, I could neither move nor speak. Anderson also
stood motionless, like a bird which is subjected to the fascinating gaze
of a serpent. Notwithstanding the terrible danger in which he was
placed, he seemed to be rooted to the spot and incapable of making a
single effort to save himself by either resistance or flight.

The scene was most extraordinary, thrilling and awful. The luxurious
chamber--the failing lamp--the murderer, holding in his hand the bloody
knife--the doomed Anderson, whose soul was quivering on the brink of the
dread abyss of eternity; all these combined to form a spectacle of the
most strange and appalling character.

Romaine now raised his pistol and took deliberate aim at Anderson,
saying,

"My work is but half done; it is _your_ turn now! Are you ready?"

"Do not shoot me like a dog," implored the unfortunate young man, who,
to do him justice, possessed a considerable amount of courage--"give me,
at least, _so