May 5.  I met Agatha and her mother at the station at eleven o’clock.  She is looking so bright, so happy, so beautiful.  And she was so overjoyed to see me.  What have I done to deserve such love?  I went back home with them, and we lunched together.  All the troubles seem in a moment to have been shredded back from my life.  She tells me that I am looking pale and worried and ill.  The dear child puts it down to my loneliness and the perfunctory attentions of a housekeeper.  I pray that she may never know the truth!  May the shadow, if shadow there must be, lie ever black across my life and leave hers in the sunshine.  I have just come back from them, feeling a new man.  With her by my side I think that I could show a bold face to any thing which life might send.

5 P. M. Now, let me try to be accurate.  Let me try to say exactly how it occurred.  It is fresh in my mind, and I can set it down correctly, though it is not likely that the time will ever come when I shall forget the doings of to-day.

I had returned from the Mardens’ after lunch, and was cutting some microscopic sections in my freezing microtome, when in an instant I lost consciousness in the sudden hateful fashion which has become only too familiar to me of late.

When my senses came back to me I was sitting in a small chamber, very different from the one in which I had been working.  It was cosey and bright, with chintz-covered settees, colored hangings, and a thousand pretty little trifles upon the wall.  A small ornamental clock ticked in front of me, and the hands pointed to half-past three.  It was all quite familiar to me, and yet I stared about for a moment in a half-dazed way until my eyes fell upon a cabinet photograph of myself upon the top of the piano.  On the other side stood one of Mrs. Marden.  Then, of course, I remembered where I was.  It was Agatha’s boudoir.

But how came I there, and what did I want?  A horrible sinking came to my heart.  Had I been sent here on some devilish errand?  Had that errand already been done?  Surely it must; otherwise, why should I be allowed to come back to consciousness?  Oh, the agony of that moment!  What had I done?  I sprang to my feet in my despair, and as I did so a small glass bottle fell from my knees on to the carpet.

It was unbroken, and I picked it up.  Outside was written “Sulphuric Acid.  Fort.”  When I drew the round glass stopper, a thick fume rose slowly up, and a pungent, choking smell pervaded the room.  I recognized it as one which I kept for chemical testing in my chambers.  But why had I brought a bottle of vitriol into Agatha’s chamber?  Was it not this thick, reeking liquid with which jealous women had been known to mar the beauty of their rivals?  My heart stood still as I held the bottle to the light.  Thank God, it was full!  No mischief had been done as yet.  But had Agatha come in a minute sooner, was it not certain that the hellish parasite within me would have dashed the stuff into her——­ Ah, it will not bear to be thought of!  But it must have been for that.  Why else should I have brought it?  At the thought of what I might have done my worn nerves broke down, and I sat shivering and twitching, the pitiable wreck of a man.