I took my sewing in the afternoon, and seated myself in Miss Nancy's room. Seeing that I was calm, she began a pleasant conversation with me. "Henry will be here to-night, Ann, a free man, the owner of himself, the custodian of his own person, and you must put on your happiest and best looks to greet him." "Ah, Miss Nancy, it seems like too much joy for me to realize. What if some grim phantom dash down this sparkling cup; just as we are about to press it to our eager and expectant lips? Such another disappointment I could not endure." "You little goosey, you will mar half of life's joys by these idle fears." "Yes, Miss Nancy," put in Biddy. "Ann is just so narvous ever since that ugly dream, that she hain't no faith to-day in anything." "Have you baked a pretty cake, and got plenty of nice confections ready to give Henry a celebration supper, good Biddy?" inquired Miss Nancy. "Ah, yes, everything is ready, only just look how light and brown my cake is," and she brought a fine large cake from the pantry, the savory odor of which would have tempted an anchorite. "Then, too," continued the provident Biddy, "the peaches are unusually soft and sweet. I have pared and sugared them, and they are on the ice now; oh, we'll have a rale feast." "Thanks, thanks, good friends," I said, in a voice choked with emotion. "Only just see," exclaimed Biddy, "here comes Louise, running as fast as her legs will carry her; she's come to be the first to tell you that Henry is free." I rushed with Biddy to the door, and Miss Nancy followed. We were all eager to hear the good news. "Mercy, Louise, what's the matter?" I cried, for her face terrified me. She was pale as death; her eyes, black and wild, seemed starting from their sockets, and around her mouth there was that ghastly, livid look, that almost congealed my blood. "Oh, God!" she cried in frenzy, "God have mercy on us all!" and reeled against the wall. "Speak, woman, speak, in heaven's name," I shouted aloud. "Henry! Henry! Henry! has aught happened to him?" "Oh, God!" she said, and her eyes flamed like a fury's; "_he has cut his throat_, and now lies weltering in his own blood." I did not scream, I did not speak. I shed no tears. I did not even close my eyes. Every sense had turned to stone! For full five minutes I stood looking in the face of Louise. "Why don't you speak, Ann! Cry, imprecate, do something, rather than stand there with that stony gaze!" said Louise, as she caught me frantically by the arm. "Why did he kill himself?" I asked, in an unfaltering tone.