ful work in silence. I sat
motionless, under the influence of a strange irresolution or
imbecility of mind, unable to determine what steps to take in a
matter where all now seems as plain to me as days light. I do not
know what came over me. The fact only shows how, when placed in
certain positions, we become paralyzed, and unable to act even with
common decision. I remember saying to myself, as a justification for
not interfering at this stage of the proceedings--

"It is too late now. Five and three are eight. Eight grains of
aconite! There is no longer a vestige of hope for the child. Death
is as certain as if a bullet were fired through the sufferer's
head."

I did not stir from where I sat, but tried to hush my deep
breathing, and quiet the loud pulsations of my heart, lest even they
should be heard and betray my proximity to the wretches.

Half an hour passed. There was a movement, and the murmuring sound
of voices,--but, though I listened eagerly, I was not able to make
out what was said. I heard the tread of a man across the floor, and
I also heard his return. I thought of the arsenic, and said to
myself, at the same time, "They will not need that." The woman was
speaking. I listened.

"Was that the arsenic?"

"Yes."

"How many grains did you give him?"

"I meant to give him three, but, in mistake, gave him six or seven."

It was too late, now, for any interference. But, I was determined
that the wretches should not escape. I was an ear-witness to their
murderous act, and I resolved to bring them to the light. While I
thus mused and resolved, I was thrilled by a long, tremulous cry
from the dying child. All was again still as death, save an
occasional deep sob, that seemed bursting up from the remnant of
stifled nature in the mother's bosom. Again that cry arose suddenly
on the air, but feebler and shorter. The mother's sob now became a
moan, and soon changed to a low, wailing cry. Her child was dead.
The fatal drugs had too surely done their murderous work. But why
should she weep over the precious babe her own hand had destroyed?
and why came there, now and then, from that chamber of death, a deep
sighing moan, struggling up in spite of all efforts to repress it,
from the breast of the miserable father? Strange enigma! I could not
read, satisfactorily to myself, the difficult solution.

I still remained quiet where I was. In a little while I heard the
father go out, and listened to his footsteps u