at is a queer thing! May I show it to Mr. Drayton?"

The inspector stepped forward, as the broker nodded; and examined the
blotting-paper attentively.

"It is written over," he said in a professional tone, "from end to end.
I see that. It is written with one name. It is the name of"--

"_Helen!_" interrupted the broker.

"Yes," replied the inspector. "Yes, it is: Helen; distinctly, Helen.
Someone must have"--

But I stayed to hear no more. What some one must have done, I sprang
and left the live men to decide--as live men do decide such
things--among themselves. I sprang, and crying: "Helen! Helen!
Helen!" with one bound I brushed them by, and fled the room, and
reached the outer air and sought for her.

As nearly as one can characterize the emotion of such a moment I should
say that it was one of mortal intensity; perhaps of what in living men
we should call maniac intensity. Up to this moment I could not be said
to have comprehended the effect of what had taken place upon my wife.

The full force of her terrible position now struck me like the edge of
a weapon with whose sheath I had been idling.

Hot in the flame of my anger I had gone from her; and cold indeed had I
returned. Her I had left dumb before my cruel tongue, but dumb was
that which had come back to her in my name.

I was a dead man. But like any living of them all--oh, more than any
living--I loved my wife. I loved her more because I had been cruel to
her than if I had been kind. I loved her more because we had parted so
bitterly than if we had parted lovingly. I loved her more because I
had died than if I had lived. I must see my wife! I must find my
wife! I must say to her--I must tell her-- Why, who in all the world
but me could do _anything_ for Helen now?

Out into the morning air I rushed, and got the breeze in my face, and
up the thronging street as spirits do, unnoted and unknown of men, I
passed; solitary in the throng, silent in the outcry, unsentient in the
press.

The sun was strong. The day was cool. The dome of the sky hung over
me, too, as over those who raised their breathing faces to its beauty.
I, too, saw, as I fled on, that the day was fair. I heard the human
voices say:

"What a morning!"

"It puts the soul into you!" said a burly stock speculator to a
railroad treasurer; they stood upon the steps of the Exchange,
laughing, as I brushed by.

"It makes life worth while," said a healthy elderly woma