I admired the colonel more than ever at that time. He received the ladies' congratulations and compliments on his wife with a grave sweetness; I noticed that the men did not jest with him, and that their appearance did not suggest any of the stale jokes and comments on matrimony, common to a mixed company. More than all this, their composed and friendly demeanor when together, and the quiet system of their glances, pleased me. But I knew that Staniels was very happy. His face unbent--its only fault had been a little coldness and sternness--and revealed a warmth and geniality that made him quite resistible. He formed the habit of coming into my room to smoke, remarking that: "Say did not like tobacco smoke." I never saw him smoke in her presence. The name on her wedding cards was Sarah Fay Pomfret, but this stately appellation the colonel abbreviated to the diminutive title, "Say," and it seemed to quite suit her. One day, about three weeks after their arrival, a party of us went down the shore gunning, Colonel Staniels was of the number. My luck was unusually good. My game bag became heavy. Towards noon I flung myself down under a tree to rest. In a few minutes Staniels appeared and took a seat beside me. He was out of spirits. "What is the matter?" I asked. He tried to smile, ruthlessly, but I saw a tear flash in his eye. "My cursed obstinacy! I was cross to Say this morning." He arose restlessly, and walked away. I saw that he was far from being happy, but it was a matter requiring no interference of mine. "Who breaks--pays," I muttered, and lay flat on my back for a full hour before the rest came up. I reached home first. The day had been unusually hot, but a cooling breeze had sprung up as the sun set. I entered the house, and passing up to my room met Say Spaniels, all in white, in the hall. "Mr. Cathmor, is Eben coming?" she asked. "He has come; he will be up directly," I answered. "Keep still as a mouse," she whispered, "I am going to play a trick on him. Don't tell where I am--hush!" as a step sounded on the stair. She turned and fled noiselessly into an alcove of the hall. Staniels came rather slowly up the stairs. I thought he was deliberating what kind of a reception might greet him, fearing, perhaps, tears, pouts or frowns. But I, seeing the merry, peeping face, knew that the matter to which he was probably keenly sensible was utterly disregarded by the sweet, healthy nature of his wife. He entered the room, closed the door. All was silent after he crossed the floor. Say tiptoed down the hall and stood listening, her head with its glossy waves of chestnut hair bent, her red lips parted, her cheek dimpling. Suddenly we heard the report of a pistol. She started bewildered. I leaped from my seat, and sprang past her into the room. Staniels lay dead on the floor, shot through the heart. Beside him lay the innocent paper which had caused the deed. It was a little note saying: