"Dr. Lenox," said he, "I have sent for you to receive a confession from me, which I little thought would ever pass my lips." He tried to wipe the moisture which was gathering on his face, but his hand shook so much that he was unable. Frank took a seat near him and performed that office, when he continued, "I have been a great sinner, Doctor, as you well know; but there is one crime lying upon my conscience, which I would gladly give all I am possessed of to be free from. Oh, dear!" He gasped convulsively. "You don't know, you have never felt the agony of remorse!" Frank tried to soothe his patient, and pointed him to the Saviour as one ready to bear all our sins. "I've tried to think so Doctor; sometimes the devil tempts me to believe that there can be no forgiveness of sins like mine. In addition to all my drunkenness and profanity, all my abuse of widows and orphans, and all my grinding the face of the poor, I have been--Oh!--_Oh, dear!_--I am a MURDERER!" Frank started involuntarily. But Squire Lee cried aloud, while the Doctor bathed his temples, and endeavored to quiet him, but reluctantly allowed him to proceed. Making a great effort to control himself, the distressed invalid proceeded to say, that while abroad many years ago, he had met a lady who interested him more than any one he had ever seen. Though his wife was still living at home, he had fallen in love with her, and had made the most disgraceful proposals to her, which she repelled with scorn. "She told me," he exclaimed, "her husband was in India, and that it was well for me that such were the case, for he would revenge to the death such an insult to his wife. Her indignation only added to her beauty; and I was almost beside myself that I could not accomplish my purpose. But I determined to have my revenge. I wrote anonymously to her husband, at first only hinting at her unfaithfulness to him, but subsequently stating the facts more fully. There was a gentleman who spent much of his time in her society and in the education of her child. It was this man to whom I referred in my letter to her husband, though I had abundant reason to know that her character was above suspicion. Sometime later, when my wicked passion had had time to cool, I again passed through the place, and to my horror learned that my letters had been the means of recalling her husband from abroad, and of the death of--of both--of them! Yes, Colonel Shirley killed his friend, and his wife died of a broken heart, leaving her husband to suppose her the guilty woman whom I had falsely represented."