Laura was soon forgotten in the horrible thought that I was a MURDERER! Oh, the anguish of that night! Why did I not leave Wold to the judgment of an offended God? Why did I not permit him to suffer the gnawing of the canker that must ever abide in his heart, instead of staining my hands with his blood? Freely would I have abandoned every hope of pleasure in the world to have washed his blood away! [Illustration: “I saw him gasp, reel, and fall.”] “When I arrived in Philadelphia, with a heavy heart, I sought a quiet hotel, not daring to confront my uncle with such a tale of woe and crime. For several days I remained in my chamber without seeing any one but the servant that brought my food. At length I asked for a New York paper. For more than an hour after it was brought I could not summon courage to peruse the hated tragedy. Finally I snatched up the sheet convulsively and glanced along the columns. When my eyes rested upon the paragraph I was in quest of, I sprang to my feet in ecstasy. The wound had not been fatal! Wold still lived! “In a twinkling I was dressed and on my way to my uncle’s residence. Notwithstanding there was a dreadful epidemic in the city, and hearses and mourners were passing every few minutes, I felt within a buoyancy that defied the terrors of disease and death. “But it seemed that disaster and desolation were fated to attend me whithersoever I turned. A gloom brooded upon my heart when I approached my uncle’s mansion, and found the badge of mourning at the door. I paused and asked the servant who was dead. He informed me that my uncle alone remained. His wife and children, all had been consigned to the tomb the day before, and he himself now lay writhing with the fell disease. I rushed in and entered the sick chamber. It was the chamber of death. My uncle pressed my hand and died. I followed him to the grave, the chief and almost only mourner.