“Nothing serious the matter, I hope!” said the cordial voice of the doctor, as he entered the room, ushered by Laban, and met by Colonel de Crespigney, who advanced to receive him. The physician of St. Inigoes was a short, stout, round-bodied little old man, with a bald head, a smooth face, cheery voice and manner. He was always dressed in speckless black from head to foot. “Nothing serious, I hope? Only one of madame’s usual nervous attacks, eh?” he cheerfully demanded, as he shook hands with the master of the house. “It is her last attack, sir. She is dead,” answered De Crespigney, in steady tones. “Dead? Lord bless my soul, I am—I—dead, do you say?” exclaimed the doctor, in surprise and confusion. “Yes, sir, she is gone. Come and see.” “Lord bless my soul, I am very much shocked!” exclaimed the good little man, as he followed the bereaved husband to the lounge on which the body of the ill-fated wife lay. Old ’Phia lifted the white handkerchief that covered the white face, and then withdrew to give way to her master and the doctor, leading the trembling child away with her. “How did this happen?” solemnly inquired the doctor, as he gazed down on the waxen face, with the stream of scarlet blood curdled from the corner of the mouth down upon the chin and throat, where it lay in a thick cake. “Through me. I killed her,” answered De Crespigney, in the same dread monotone in which all his answers to the doctor’s questions had been made. Dr. Prout turned and gazed at him in amazement for a moment, and then said gravely and kindly: “My dear friend, this shock has been too much for you. Compose yourself. This unhappy lady has had a fatal hemorrhage of the lungs, such as I feared for a long time past; such as I warned you might be the result of any unusual excitement.” “Just so, you warned me, yet I killed her.” The doctor looked at him in a great trouble, then replaced the handkerchief over the quiet face of the dead, and taking his arm led him to a distant sofa, placed him on it, took the seat beside him, and said: “De Crespigney, you must not say such false things about yourself. Think what the effect upon other minds may be.” “They are not false; they are true. Listen to me, Dr. Prout. You know you warned me that excitement might prove fatal to my unhappy wife.” “Yes.” “You know how prone she was to excitement. You knew her delicate health and her extreme nervous irritability?” “I knew the weakness of her lungs and the violence of her temper. I knew all that, Colonel de Crespigney, before you ever saw her face.” “Let that pass,” said Marcel, waving his hand impatiently. “You warned me against the danger of excitement for her. I was not man enough to heed your warning in her behalf. I have been frenzied to-night, Dr. Prout. But attend! This evening I irritated her, excited, taunted, maddened, murdered her!” “Oh, my dear Colonel. Oh, tut, tut, tut!”