"She listened and heard voices--the voices of two people, two men. She knew the two voices. One was that of her husband--the other that of Mr. Thomas Blake. Both voices seemed friendly, but she did not catch the words. Shortly after she heard Mr. Blake distinctly say 'Good-night,' and her husband answer 'Good-night, Blake.' She was quite positive these were the words spoken, and that the tones were friendly--yes, she was prepared to swear, cordial. Then she heard a man's footstep on the uncarpeted boards of the hall, and in a moment the front door was closed. "Some time elapsed before she went down--half-an-hour, or perhaps a little more. She had a reason for not going down immediately. From the time the front door was shut until she went down she had not heard a sound, not the faintest sound, in the house. A slight noise arising in the dining-room, where she had left Mr. Davenport, would be inaudible to her; but she felt almost certain no one could in that interval of time enter or leave the house without her hearing him. "At twenty minutes past twelve she descended and crept cautiously into the dining-room, wishing not to disturb her husband if he should be sleeping. Her husband was reclining on the couch in very nearly the same attitude she had left him; it was such as he always took when his cough prevented his lying down. "She believed he was sleeping, and stood gazing at him for a few seconds. Then, becoming uneasy, she did not know why, she called him several times, and failing to arouse him with her voice, she placed her hand on his shoulder. She now became grievously alarmed, for he had always been a remarkably light sleeper. She listened for his breathing, but could hear nothing. "After a few moments she became terrified, desperate, and, going to the front door, opened it and attracted the attention of Mr. Paulton, who in a short time brought Dr. Santley, who said he was dead. "Yes; she identified that bottle. It was the one in which her husband used to keep chloroform. He had the bottle always by him. When she left him to go to her room that night two hours earlier the bottle was more than three-quarters full of chloroform, and the cork was in it. Thirty or forty drops was the quantity her husband generally used at a time. He always spilled the chloroform into a napkin formed into a rude resemblance of a cornucopia, and then inhaled it. To her knowledge, he never used the drug internally, nor in any way but that described.