“In what way was she excited?” I asked, looking at the stranger as I stepped back from the couch on which the dead body was lying.

She returned my steady gaze, without answering, for some moments.  Either my tone or manner affected her unpleasantly, for I saw her brows contract slightly, her full lips close upon themselves, and her eyes acquire an intenser look.

“You have been her physician, I believe?” There was no sign of feeling in the steady voice which made the inquiry.

“Yes.”

“I need not, in that case, describe to you her unhappy state of mind. I need not tell you that an evil will had the mastery over her understanding, and that, in the fierce struggle of evil passion with evil passion, mind and body had lost their right adjustment.”

“I know all this,” said I.  “Still, madam, in view of my professional duty, I must repeat my question, and urge upon you the propriety of an undisguised answer.  In what way was she excited? and what was the cause leading to an excitement which has ended thus fatally?”

“I am not in the habit of putting on disguises,” she answered, with a quiet dignity that really looked beautiful.

“I pray you, madam, not to misunderstand me,” said I.  “As a physician, I must report the cause of all deaths in the range of my practice.  If I were not to do so in this case, a permit for burial would not be issued until a regular inquest was held by the Coroner.”

“Ah, I see,” she replied, yet with an air of indecision.  “You are perfectly right, Doctor, and we must answer to your satisfaction.  But let us retire from this chamber.”

She led the way down stairs.  As we passed the memorable north-west room, she pushed the door open, and said,

“Blanche, dear, I wish to see you.  Come down to the parlor.”

I heard faintly the answer, in a very musical voice.  We had scarcely entered the parlor, when the lady said—­

“My daughter, Doctor.”

A vision of beauty and innocence met my gaze.  A young girl, not over seventeen, tall like her mother, very fair, with a face just subdued into something of womanly seriousness, stood in the door, as I turned at mention of her presence.

A single lamp gave its feeble light to the room, only half subduing the shadows that went creeping into corners and recesses.  Something of a weird aspect was on every thing; and I could not but gaze at the two strangers in that strange place to them, under such peculiar circumstances, and wonder to see them so calm, dignified, and self-possessed.  We sat down by the table on which the lamp was standing, the elder of the two opposite, and the younger a little turned away, so that her features were nearly concealed.

“Blanche,” said the former, “the Doctor wishes to know the particular incidents connected with the death of Mrs. Allen.”

I thought there was an uneasy movement on the part of the girl.  She did not reply.  There was a pause.