He mechanically followed, threw himself into a chair, and listened with frenzied impatience to the reading of the will.

“A curse is upon me,” he shouted, jumping up as I concluded, “the curse of God—­a judgment upon the crime I but the other day committed—­a crime as I thought—­dolt, idiot that I was—­so cunningly contrived, so cleverly executed!  Fool, villain, madman that I have been; for now, when fortune is tendered for my acceptance, I dare not put forth my hand to grasp it; fortune, too, not only for me, but—.  O God, it will kill us both, Martha as well as me, though I alone am to blame for this infernal chance!”

This outburst appeared to relieve him, and he sank back into his chair somewhat calmer.  I could understand nothing of all that rhapsody, knowing, as I did, that his son Archibald had died from natural causes.  “It is a severe blow,” I said, in as soothing a tone as I could assume—­“a very great disappointment; still, you are secured from extreme poverty—­from anything like absolute want”—­

“It is not that—­it is not that!” he broke in, though not quite so wildly as before.  “Look you, Mr. Sharp, I will tell you all!  There may be some mode of extrication from this terrible predicament, and I must have your advice professionally upon it.”

“Go on; I will advise you to the best of my ability.”

“Here it is, then:  Archy, my son Archy, is alive!—­alive! and well in health as either you or I!”

I was thunderstruck.  Here was indeed a revelation.

“Alive and well,” continued Andrews.  “Listen! when the cholera began to spread so rapidly, I bethought me of insuring the boy’s life in case of the worst befalling, but not, as I hope for mercy, with the slightest thought of harming a hair of his head.  This was done.  Very soon the terrific disease approached our neighborhood, and my wife took Archy to a country lodging, returning herself the same evening.  The next day our only servant was attacked and died.  A few hours after that our first-floor lodger, a widow of the name of Mason, who had been with us but a very short time, was attacked.  She suffered dreadfully; and her son, a boy about the age of Archy, and with just his hair and complexion, took ill also.  The woman was delirious with pain; and before effective medical aid could be obtained—­she was seized in the middle of the night—­she expired.  Her son who had been removed into another room, became rapidly worse, and we sent for Dr. Parkinson; the poor fellow was partially delirious with pain, and clung piteously round my wife’s neck, calling her mother, and imploring her to relieve him.  Dr. Parkinson arrived, and at first sight of the boy, said, ’Your son is very ill, Mrs. Andrews—­I fear, past recovery; but we will see what can be done.’  I swear to you, Mr. Sharp, that it was not till this moment the device which has ruined us, flashed across my brain.  I cautioned my wife in a whisper not to undeceive the doctor, who prescribed the most active remedies, and was in the room, when the lad died.  You know the rest.  And now, sir, tell me, can anything be done—­any device suggested to retrieve this miserable blunder, this terrible mistake?”