The Judge and Mr. Snivel have found it convenient to make a trip of pleasure into the country.  And though the affair creates some little comment in fashionable society, it would be exceedingly unpopular to pry too deeply into the private affairs of men high in office.  We are not encumbered with scrutinizing morality.  Being an “unfortunate woman,” the law cannot condescend to deal with her case.  Indeed, were it brought before a judge, and the judge to find himself sitting in judgment upon a judge, his feelings would find some means of defrauding his judgment, while society would carefully close the shutter of its sanctity.

At high noon there comes a man of the name of Moon, commonly called Mr. Moon, the good-natured Coroner.  In truth, a better-humored man than Mr. Moon cannot be found; and what is more, he has the happiest way in the world of disposing of such cases, and getting verdicts of his jury exactly suited to circumstances.  Mr. Moon never proceeds to business without regaling his jury with good brandy and high-flavored cigars.  In this instance he has bustled about and got together six very solemn and seriously-disposed gentlemen, who proceed to deliberate.  “A mystery hangs over the case,” says one.  A second shakes his head, and views the body as if anxious to get away.  A third says, reprovingly, that “such cases are coming too frequent.”  Mr. Moon explains the attendant circumstances, and puts a changed face on the whole affair.  One juryman chalks, and another juryman chalks, and Mr. Moon says, by way of bringing the matter to a settled point, “It is a bad ending to a wretched life.”  A solemn stillness ensues, and then follows the verdict.  The body being identified as that of one Anna Bonard, a woman celebrated for her beauty, but of notorious reputation, the jury are of opinion (having duly weighed the circumstances) that she came to her melancholy death by the hands of one George Mullholland, who was prompted to commit the act for some cause to the jury unknown.  And the jury, in passing the case over to the authorities, recommend that the said Mullholland be brought to justice.  This done, Mr. Moon orders her burial, and the jury hasten home, fully confident of having performed their duty unswerved.

When night came, when all was hushed without, and the silence within was broken only by the cricket’s chirp, when the lone watcher, the faithful old slave, sat beside the cold, shrouded figure, when the dim light of the chamber of death seemed mingling with the shadows of departed souls, there appeared in the room, like a vision, the tall figure of a female, wrapped in a dark mantle.  Slowly and noiselessly she stole to the side of the deceased, stood motionless and statue-like for several minutes, her eyes fixed in mute contemplation on the face of the corpse.  The watcher looked and started back, still the figure remained motionless.  Raising her right hand to her chin, pensively, she lifted her eyes heavenward,