While reflecting upon this wonderful law, which all my life I had perceived dimly, I observed with care the evidently unhappy man. A bedstead of rich workmanship occupied one side of the apartment. Rushing toward it he burst forth in a cry of frenzy, swaying his hands fearfully and ejaculating and groaning in most piteous accents. At this juncture steps were heard outside ascending the stairs, and several members of the household entered, bearing lights. They looked about the room, at first timidly; then, gathering courage, peered under the bed, opened closets, and scrutinized every nook and corner of the apartment. Foiled in their efforts to discover the inmate they turned to each other with amazement. “I am positive the sounds came from this room,” said one. “There is no one to be seen here,” replied another; “what can it mean?” The culprit stood in the corner, gesticulating violently, but they with their mortal eyes could not see him. They passed close to him, but their lighted candles could not reveal the shadowless! Having satisfied themselves that the room was tenantless, they departed. Then I approached the unhappy wretch: “Friend,” said I, “let me aid you. Unburden your woo to me; I too have suffered and am not without sin.” Casting his eyes upon me now for the first time, the man scowled with dogged sullenness, and said: “I want no help.” “Nay,” said I, “your looks belie your words; come, go with me to my quiet cottage; there you shall refresh yourself; you shall sleep to-night in peace.” “Peace!” he repeated scornfully. “I know no peace; nor can I leave this spot till every eye beholds the horrid deed that I committed here.” “Friend,” said I, “tell me the nature of your crime; reveal to me your secret and your heart will be lighter for it.” “Ha! ha!” he answered, his voice dying away in a low wail. “Look upon that wall opposite the bed; it will speak better than I can.” I looked, and beheld a faint photograph or impression of the couch, with its handsome drapery. Upon it reclined the figure of a female, and bending over her appeared the form of a man, whose livid face and black, disordered hair I recognized as an unmistakable reflection of the unfortunate man before me. “You see that ‘the very stones cry out against me,’” said he. “Every night for two years have I enacted that same scene, and I am held by some unseen, influence to this baneful spot.” “Tell me your story,” said I; “hide nothing--I am your friend.” He ran his thin fingers through his tangled hair, and with a voice husky with emotion answered: