ch
ornamented the handle. I had not been mistaken in them. They belonged to
the house of Grey, and to none other. It was a legitimate inquiry I
had undertaken. However the matter ended, I should always have these
historic devices for my excuse.

My plan was to lay this dagger on Mr. Grey's desk at a moment when
he would be sure to see it and I to see him. If he betrayed a guilty
knowledge of this fatal steel; if, unconscious of my presence, he showed
surprise and apprehension,--then we should know how to proceed; justice
would be loosed from constraint and the police feel at liberty to
approach him. It was a delicate task, this. I realized how delicate,
when I had thrust the stiletto out of sight under my nurse's apron and
started to cross the hall. Should I find the library clear? Would the
opportunity be given me to approach his desk, or should I have to carry
this guilty witness of a world-famous crime on into Miss Grey's room,
and with its unholy outline pressing a semblance of itself upon my
breast, sit at that innocent pillow, meet those innocent eyes, and
answer the gentle inquiries which now and then fell from the sweetest
lips I have ever seen smile into the face of a lonely, preoccupied
stranger?

The arrangement of the rooms was such as made it necessary for me to
pass through this sitting-room in order to reach my patient's bedroom.

With careful tread, so timed as not to appear stealthy, I accordingly
advanced and pushed open the door. The room was empty. Mr. Grey was
still with his daughter and I could cross the floor without fear. But
never had I entered upon a task requiring more courage or one more
obnoxious to my natural instincts. I hated each step I took, but I loved
the man for whom I took those steps, and moved resolutely on. Only, as I
reached the chair in which Mr. Grey was accustomed to sit, I found that
it was easier to plan an action than to carry it out. Home life and the
domestic virtues had always appealed to me more than a man's greatness.
The position which this man held in his own country, his usefulness
there, even his prestige as statesman and scholar, were facts, but very
dreamy facts, to me, while his feelings as a father, the place he
held in his daughter's heart--these were real to me, these I could
understand; and it was of these and not of his place as a man, that this
his favorite seat spoke to me. How often had I beheld him sit by the
hour with his eye on the door behind whi