I have been anxiously considering with myself, as to
whether I had better imperfectly clear up your doubts by submitting to
your inspection the two letters which I have already received, or wait
till I can triumphantly vindicate myself by the production of the
documents which I have already mentioned, and I have, I think, not
unnaturally decided upon the latter course. However, there is a person
in the next room whose testimony is not without its value--excuse me
for one moment." So saying, he arose and went to the door of a closet which opened from
the study; this he unlocked, and half opening the door, he said, "It is
only I," and then slipped into the room, and carefully closed and locked
the door behind him. I immediately heard his voice in animated conversation. My curiosity
upon the subject of the letter was naturally great, so, smothering any
little scruples which I might have felt, I resolved to look at the
address of the letter which lay, as my husband had left it, with its
face upon the table. I accordingly drew it over to me, and turned up the
direction. For two or three moments I could scarce believe my eyes, but there could
be no mistake--in large characters were traced the words, "To the
Archangel Gabriel in Heaven." I had scarcely returned the letter to its original position, and in some
degree recovered the shock which this unequivocal proof of insanity
produced, when the closet door was unlocked, and Lord Glenfallen
re-entered the study, carefully closing and locking the door again upon
the outside. "Whom have you there?" inquired I, making a strong effort to appear
calm. "Perhaps," said he, musingly, "you might have some objection to seeing
her, at least for a time." "Who is it?" repeated I. "Why," said he, "I see no use in hiding it--the blind Dutchwoman. I have
been with her the whole morning. She is very anxious to get out of that
closet; but you know she is odd, she is scarcely to be trusted." A heavy gust of wind shook the door at this moment with a sound as if
something more substantial were pushing against it. "Ha, ha, ha!--do you hear her?" said he, with an obstreperous burst of
laughter. The wind died away in a long howl, and Lord Glenfallen, suddenly
checking his merriment, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered:

"Poor devil, she has been hardly used." "We had better not tease her at present with questions," said I, in as
unconcerned a tone as I could assume, although I felt every moment as if
I should faint. "Humph! may be so," said he. "Well, come back in an hour or two, or when
you please, and you will find us here." He again unlocked the door, and entered with the same precautions which
he had adopted before, locking the door upon the inside; and as I
hurried from the room, I heard his voice again exerted as if in eager
parley. I can hardly describe my emotions; my hopes had been raised to the
highest, and now, in an instant, all was gone: the dreadful consummation
was accomplished--the fearful retribution had fallen upon the guilty
man--the mind was destroyed, the power to repent was gone. The agony of the hours which followed what I would still call my awful
interview with Lord Glenfallen, I cannot describe; my solitude was,
however, broken in upon by Martha, who came to inform me of the arrival
of a gentleman, who expected me in the parlour. I accordingly descended, and, to my great joy, found my father seated by
the fire. This expedition upon his part was easily accounted for: my
communications had touched the honour of the family. I speedily
informed him of the dreadful malady which had fallen upon the wretched
man. My father suggested the necessity of placing some person to watch him,
to prevent his injuring himself or others. I rang the bell, and desired that one Edward Cooke, an attached servant
of the family, should be sent to me. I told him distinctly and briefly the nature of the service required of
him, and, attended by him, my father and I proceeded at once to the
study. The door of the inner room was still closed, and everything in
the outer chamber remained in the same order in which I had left it. We then advanced to the closet-door, at which we knocked, but without
receiving any answer. We next tried to open the door, but in vain; it was locked upon the
inside. We knocked more loudly, but in vain. Seriously alarmed, I desired the servant to force the door, which was,
after several violent efforts, accomplished, and we entered the closet. Lord Glenfallen was lying on his face upon a sofa. "Hush!" said I; "he is asleep." We paused for a moment. "He is too still for that," said my father. We all of us felt a strong reluctance to approach the figure. "Edward," said I, "try whether your master sleeps." The servant approached the sofa where Lord Glenfallen lay. He leant his
ear towards the head of the recumbent figure, to ascertain whether the
sound of breathing was audible. He turned towards us, and said:

"My lady, you had better not wait here; I am sure he is dead!" "Let me see the face," said I, terribly agitated; "you _may_ be
mistaken." The man then, in obedience to my command, turned the body round, and,
gracious God! what a sight met my view. The whole breast of the shirt, with its lace frill, was drenched with
his blood, as was the couch underneath the spot where he lay. The head hung back, as it seemed, almost severed from the body by a
frightful gash, which yawned across the throat. The razor which had
inflicted the wound was found under his body. All, then, was over; I was never to learn the history in whose
termination I had been so deeply and so tragically involved. The severe discipline which my mind had undergone was not bestowed in
vain. I directed my thoughts and my hopes to that place where there is
no more sin, nor danger, nor sorrow. Thus ends a brief tale whose prominent incidents many will recognize as
having marked the history of a distinguished family; and though it
refers to a somewhat distant date, we shall be found not to have taken,
upon that account, any liberties with the facts. THE END. LONDON:
  PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LD.,
  ST. JOHN'S HOUSE, CLERKENWELL, E.C. BY THE AUTHOR OF "BALLYBEG JUNCTION." THE
  MERCHANT OF KILLOGUE
  A Munster Tale

  BY
  F. M. ALLEN

  AUTHOR OF "THROUGH GREEN GLASSES," "A HOUSE OF TEARS,"
  "IN ONE TOWN," ETC., ETC. In Three Volumes. THE WORLD. "An inside and intimate picture of Irish life and character, in phases
and circumstances which have not, so far as we know, been approached by
any other novelist or satirist.