As she walked up and down the room in her fury, she looked like one demented. Her hands were clenched till the nails entered her flesh, her eyes rolled wildly, and, were I more easily frightened, I would have felt impelled to call for help. Gradually becoming cooler, Mrs. Quintin unfolded to me her plan for deceiving her husband, and, with a coolness that I would not have pardoned but for her evidently unhinged condition, actually _requested me to assist her?_ She said she had been offered a child for adoption by a lady who was more guilty and unfeeling than herself, and that the person in question had promised to send her word when she was taken ill, so that she might send for me, and make her arrangements for the reception of the child, which was to be transported secretly into her bedroom. I was so astonished that I was for a time unable to a speak. The deep plot itself, the proposition made to me to assist her, and the cool manner of the lady herself, fairly staggered me. At length, speaking as calmly as I could, I tried to convince Mrs. Quintin of the enormity of the crime she intended to commit, telling her that, if she wished to adopt a child, she would find it quite an easy matter to do so without taking any such course as she evidently intended; and, after arguing for some time, she seemed to yield a little to reason, and promised to do nothing rashly. She had already, however, committed herself to the first part of her programme, and told her husband a falsehood; how was she to undeceive him? I suggested that she should tell him on his return that she had been mistaken, and that on examination I had found nothing unusual the matter with her. This she positively refused to do, saying that her husband had so set his heart on this one object that, were his hopes suddenly dashed to the ground, he might do something desperate. She said she would break it to him gently, and, imploring me to say nothing to him of what had passed, she escorted me to the door, and, with tearful eyes, bade me farewell. Several months elapsed, and I had, for the time, thought little of either Mr. and Mrs. Quintin, when one evening in glancing over the papers, my eye fell on the following announcement: “On the ----th inst., at ---- Cadieux street the wife of R. Quintin of a daughter.” I let the paper drop as I gazed vacantly at the ceiling and tried to realize the whole affair. Undecided how to act, I mechanically put on my bonnet and cloak, and walked up Cadieux street, when, coming out of the house, I spied my friend, Dr. P----. “Good evening, Doctor,” said I. “Oh, good evening, Mrs. Schroeder. I have just been attending a patient of yours; it seems they were not at all prepared, and had not time to notify you. Indeed, I was late myself, as I did not arrive till some minutes after the child was born.”