e strange visitor paused, and coughed. The cough was dry and
hollow.

She continued: "I think I may say that I was amiable and good enough, as
a child. But your brother's desertion changed my whole nature. I dwelt
upon one thought--revenge. I shudder as I confess it, but, for months, I
meditated taking the life of the man who had wronged me. I came to this
city twice, and lay in wait for him; but my heart faltered, and, thank
God! I did not commit that crime. Soon, Heaven interposed--so it seemed
to me at that wicked time--to help on my work of vengeance. Your
brother's wife died, giving birth to a female child. I used to ride into
the city twice a week regularly after this, and watch for him near his
place of business, that I might gloat on his pale, unhappy face. I see
the look of horror with which you receive this part of my confession;
but you will bear in mind, sir, that I am hero to tell the truth,
concealing nothing. You remember, sir, the old lines about a woman
scorned? I, sir, can bear witness to their awful truth."

Another fit of coughing here interrupted her. At length she resumed, in
a feebler voice: "I must hasten while I can talk at all. One day, while
I was watching near your brother's house for his appearance, the door
opened, and a servant appeared, with a child in her arms--his child. The
servant walked down the street, and I followed her, unobserved, until
she came to Washington Parade Ground. She entered the park, and took a
seat near the fountain. I sat down on a bench near her. It was not long
before I made the girl's acquaintance, and had the child in my arms,
caressing it with well-counterfeited kindness. Suddenly, the girl
recollected that she had left the street door of the house unlocked, and
was afraid that the house, having not a soul in it, would be robbed
during her absence. She was so much troubled about it, that she asked me
to hold the child--then about a year old--until she could go and lock up
the house, and return. A horrible suggestion came into my mind, and I
took the child in my arms. The servant was no sooner out of my sight,
than I rose, and, clasping the child tightly, walked rapidly in the
opposite direction. When I had got out of the park, among the side
streets near North River, I ran until I was tired, turning at every
corner, to avoid pursuit. My plan was clear from the moment that the
child was left in my charge. It was, to give her into the keeping of
some stranger, a