Presently he rose, and with stealthy steps approached his sleeping friend. Murmuring “Why did I not kill him?” he struck with the folded paper, as though with a dagger, the form before him. Castleton, who had sunk into a pleasant sleep and whose fat face was wreathed with a smile, was annoyed at the rude awakening. “What the devil!” he began angrily, and then stopped as his eyes met the face of his friend and he realized that he was in some sort of trance. He grew very pale as he saw Frank Onslow stab, and stab, and stab again. There was a certain grotesqueness in the affair--the man in such terrible earnest, in his mind committing murder, while his real weapon was but a folded paper. As he stabbed he hissed, “Why did I not kill him? Why did I not kill him?” Then he went through a series of movements as though he were softly pulling an imaginary door shut behind him, and so back to his own chair, where he sat down hiding his face in his hands. Castleton sat looking at him in amazement, and then murmured to himself: “They thought it was someone stronger than Fenella whose grasp made those marks on the dead man’s throat.” He suddenly looked round to see that no one but himself had observed what had happened, and then, being satisfied on this point, murmured again: “A noble woman, by Jove! A noble woman!” He called out; “Frank--Frank Onslow! Wake up, man.” Onslow raised his head as a man does when suddenly awakened, and smiled as he said: “What is it, old man? Have I been asleep?” It was quite evident that he had no recollection of what had just passed. Castleton came and sat down beside him, and his kindly face was grave as he asked: “You have read the papers?” “I have.” “Now tell me--you offered to do so--why you said ‘Thank God!’ when I told you that your wife had killed De Mürger?” Frank Onslow paused. Although the memory of what he had thought to be his shame had been with him daily and nightly until he had become familiarized with it, it was another thing to speak of it, even to such a friend as Castleton. Even now, when it was apparent from the issue of the trial that his wife had avenged so dreadfully the attempt upon her honor, he felt it hard to speak on the subject. Castleton saw the doubt and struggle in his mind which was reflected in his face, and said earnestly, as he laid his hand upon his shoulder: “Do not hesitate to tell me, Frank. I do not ask out of mere curiosity. I am perhaps a better friend than you think in helping to clear up a certain doubt which I see before me. I think you know I am a friend.” “One of the best a man ever had!” said Frank impulsively, as he took the other’s hand. Then turning away his head, he said slowly: