I had ordered my horse and dog-cart to be ready at a certain hour. I had a liking for late drives, so my orders were not considered unusual. I walked out of the house, first telling Lucille to lock the door and walk around the corner on Fifth Avenue, where I would get her. Before starting, however, I asked Lucille to drink a glass of wine with me. I put in hers a sleeping potion, and she raised it to her lips, saying: “Here’s to our happiness.” I put my wine down untasted. Then she came to me in an affectionate way I had once admired, and raising her veil, said: “Tolman, kiss your little one.” I folded her in my arms. My heart beat quickly, my breath came painfully. I held her close to my breast, I kissed her soft, warm, lips regretfully. “Lucille,” I said, pleadingly, “will you go back to your home and forget you wanted to be my wife?” “I would rather die,” she answered me, angrily. I knew then it was too late. There was no way to retreat. Either I must accomplish my purpose, or renounce all claim to Miss Chamberlain and take Lucille as my wife. “We have been very happy these two weeks, haven’t we, Tolman?” she said, with her arms about my neck. “Kiss your little one good-by, for when she comes back here she will be your wife.” “Yes, when you come back,” I said, and I kissed her. With that there flitted through my mind a picture of a little quiet home with her as my wife. I thought of her beauty, but then came the thought that it would cost me what I most longed for--wealth--position. No, it was too late. I drove to the curb almost the instant she had reached there, and only stopped long enough to get her in. I had a valise, which Lucille thought contained a change of clothing, in the dog-cart. I drove off quickly to the Park. We had not more than entered the Park when Lucille yawned and complained of feeling drowsy. I drove on, listening intently for any sounds that would indicate the presence of any one. Reaching a bend in the road and finding everything still, I asked Lucille to hold the reins until I could get out to see if something was not amiss with the harness. Drowsily she took the reins. “Do you see anything coming, Lucille?” I asked, as I reached under the seat and, drawing out a sandbag which I had made ready in advance and concealed there, I rose to my feet as though to jump out of the buggy. “No, Tolman; the way looks clear,” she replied, slowly, as she leaned forward to look. With a swift motion I raised the sandbag and brought it down on her head. She never uttered a sound, but fell across the side of the cart. I caught her with one hand and, taking the reins from her limp fingers, steadied the horse.