own eyes when she went into the apartments of that gambler, at the dark hour of night. You see I had my suspicions about her, anyway, and when I saw her meet Bowles in the garden that night I concluded that some deviltry was going on, and determined to watch her. I have the advantage you see, doctor, over other women--it is no trouble for me to disguise myself. I am very tall, you perceive, and my brother’s clothes fit me to a T. I made it my business to waylay Mr. Ragland’s premises every night until I succeeded in accomplishing my object. One night about eight o’clock I saw Miss Bramlett go out of the house by the back way and walk cautiously toward the rear side of the garden. I was concealed among the shrubbery, and saw her coming directly toward the spot where I was. She, however, turned to the left, passing within ten paces of me. She appeared to be looking for some one, for she stopped near me and waited for several minutes; then she turned square off to the right and entered the summer-house by the back door. I think she stayed in the summer-house about ten minutes; at any rate, she remained in it until I began to grow restless, and was thinking of trying to slip around to the front door, so as to enable me to see whether or not she was alone. I noticed that she had her face covered with a veil, but I knew her by the dress and shawl she wore--the same she had on the time I met her at the Widow Spratt’s. When she came out of the summer-house, she went in the direction of the carriage-house, which you know is east of the former, and about forty yards from it. She passed on without halting, until she reached the extreme back part of the garden. She paused and looked around in every direction, as if trying to ascertain whether or not any one was watching her. But she did not see me; I was too sharp to be caught that way. I am not one of those sap-heads that you have heard so much about. In fact, I hate sap-headed women--it is my character to hate ’em; and as to sap-headed men, they ought not to be permitted to live. But here I am again straggling off from the subject. I beg you to excuse me, doctor; you know I am quite weak yet--indeed I am. It is astonishing to me that I am able to utter a word. Your medicine cured my complaints, it is true, but left me completely prostrated. I don’t think I ever shall need any more drugs. But I declare, I must quit wandering off that way. I wouldn’t do it, I know, but I am afraid the strong medicine has, to some extent, weakened my mind. Everything seems like a dream. Do you ever dream, doctor? No? Ah, then, you don’t appreciate them. Where one’s dreams are pleasant, one enjoys the sensation very much; but when the stomach’s out of order, one is sure to have unpleasant dreams. Oh! I had such a nice dream last night! I thought that I was--but what do you care about my dreams? I suppose you want me to finish my narrative about Miss Bramlett’s movements.’