“Words cannot express the agony of the hours that followed. I managed to arouse the servants and they called the police. They asked me to explain, but they could not get a satisfactory explanation from me. I did not know how it all happened and I was mentally incapable of doing myself justice in telling what I knew. My account was so confused that I was remanded to jail without bail, pending my trial. Oh, those awful days! Not a friend came to see me. While I was living in affluence I had scores of friends, but now that I was in trouble and disgrace there was not one of all the number that would take me by the hand.” “But where was your husband all this time?” “Yes, you may well ask. “When they questioned him as to his whereabouts on that night, he proved an alibi. He gave a detailed account of his doings every hour of that night and, while it did not redound to his credit, it saved him from the penitentiary, and nearly sent me there. “There were three reasons why I was cleared. Firstly, they could prove no motive for the act; secondly, it seemed impossible for a woman to strike such a powerful blow; and last, but not least, the efficiency of my counsel. “He was an entire stranger to me. He had read the newspaper accounts of the affair, which stated, among other things, that I had no counsel, and his sympathies were aroused. He took up my case with no prospect of compensation.” “But, tell me, what became of your husband and who killed Horace?” “That mystery was not solved until six months ago. I had come to Chicago after the trial was over to get away from all the old environments and the old scenes, in the most miserable health. I found employment here and as soon as my mind became occupied with other things I began to recover. One day I received a telegram which had been forwarded from place to place in search of me. It came from my husband’s physician, and told me to come at once, as Chauncey was dying, and it was his last request that they find me and bring me there at any cost. I went and he confessed before witnesses that he was guilty of the crime for which I had been arrested. “It seems that Horace never left the house that night, fearing, I suppose, that I might do myself some injury. He saw Chauncey come in intoxicated, and fearing he might do me bodily harm he ran in to warn me. It must have been his raised arm, silently motioning me to fly, which I, in my dazed condition, mistook for Chauncey, and in fear threw up my arm for protection, then fainted. Chauncey staggered in and the sight of Horace there with me so angered him that he picked up the first thing he could lay his hands on, which chanced to be the paper knife, and in his drunken rage he killed him. “The sight of his crime sobered him and self-protection was his first thought. He placed me on the couch, never stopping to revive me, and fled, leaving me to my fate.