At length, about three o'clock, as the first glimmer of dawn became visible through the barred casements of the round-house, the rattling of bolts and chains at the outer door told that some one was admitted. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. Before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating at the top. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I have slept with it under my pillow. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus.
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