WHEN was it? Was it last Christmas, or next Christmas, or was it ages and ages ago?

       I can't remember. I can't remember anything since that night. I can't even be sure; sometimes, that I really remember all that took place then, or that all I remember ever did take place.

       Let me see, where was it? Was it in Montreal?

       I can't remember. Sometimes I think it was, and sometimes I think it was far, far away in some country I have forgotten now. I know it was in a large city. I remember the great tall houses, and the wide streets. and the constant buzz buzz of trade, and the whirl and swirl of fast and fashionable life. I remember the gay equipages, the prancing steeds, the handsome women, the foolish, foppish men — Ah! one of the women was so beautiful; and one of the men was so foolish.

       I remember the churches too; with great tall spires stretching up, up until they were lost in the clouds. I remember climbing one of the spires until I had reached the clouds and rolled over and over in them, and danced in them, and swung to and fro in their fleecy folds as in a hammock.

       Oh, it was fine fun! To be tossed up and down; to be danced back and forth; to hang on the gossamer thread of a thought; far above struggling humanity, and laugh at man's puny efforts to peer into illimitable space, and lay down the path for the planets to follow in their orbits, while the faintest trace of a cloud could mar his vision and set all his calculations at variance. And I could roll in the clouds, and laugh at men — aye, and women too; and above all at that one woman who was so beautiful, and that one man who was so foolish.

       Fool! The clouds got into my brain. I can feel them now, still rolling over and over, still dancing back and forth; now banking up dark and lowering; now breaking out bright and glorious sun-capped mountains of golden vapor as the orb of day shoots his slender rays over them, tinging and fringing them with gold.

       Clouds, clouds, clouds. Always clouds now. Sometimes damp and heavy, and wet with the vast amount of aqueous matter suspended in them; sometimes hot and dry and parched, as the fiery sun eats them up and leaves only a thin transparent film, which I only can see, to tell where they have been.

       Was it all a cloud? Did it all happen up in that steeple? Did it ever happen at all?

       I do not know. Sometimes I think it did; and then again it seems as if it had got mixed up with something else and I cannot remember.

       It commenced by the sea. It was a gorgeously bright and clear day. The ocean lay lazily stretching itself out, out, out until the clouds came down and joined it and you could now tell where the ocean ended and the clouds began. The sun shone brilliantly, changing the little ripples of the water into shining scales, until it appeared as if the water had been converted into a million suits of burnished scale armor, and the sunbeams were dancing dizzy, whirling, maddening waltzes on it. The waves rolled slowly upon the long white beach, chasing the gleaming pebbles, rolling them over and over, in mere wantonness, and then leaving them stranded, high and dry, and lazily drawing themselves back to the depths of ocean. Isn't that like life? Does not strength always thus play with weakness; and, when its momentary pleasure has grown satiated, draw away and leave weakness to regret its own folly in being so easily beguiled?

       I cannot tell. The clouds have come again and I am rolling in them. Jolly clouds. There is fun in you; but even you are treacherous, and open suddenly and drop me from your dizzy heights of airy thought to the dullness of earth. Away, I want no more clouds! Let me think.

       Ah! I remember again, I remember that the wind whispered softly to the waves — I heard it, although it thought no one was listening; and it kissed and caressed them, and they tossed themselves up in laughing little flakes and kissed back again, as the so zephyr breathed gently over the face of the water. Here and there brilliantly gleaming fishes darted through the calm and shining water, and a boy on neighboring jetty, armed with a rod and line, threw his seductive bait to them in vain. They were too happy in that glorious sea to be seduced by the false sham of a wriggling worm only half concealing a cruel hook. Are men as wise as fishes? Do they seize at the apparent worm without regarding the concealed barb which will stick into them and poison their lives? I cannot remember. The clouds have come again.

       Yet she laughed — she! Ah, now the clouds have rolled away and I can remember again.

       She was with me. We stood by the seashore together, on a high rock, and gazed at the beauties of the sea, the sky, the earth; but naught was so beautiful in sea, in sky, on earth, as she. In all the wondrous beauty of her budding womanhood he stood by me and we gazed into each other's eyes; and while we drank in full draughts of nature's loveliness spread before us, our glances reflected back the deep, pure love which burned within us, and we felt that our hearts were made to throb in unison, our lives to be mingled together, even as the brooklet trickling out at our feet mingled with the ocean and rejoiced in the union.

       I felt it, and thought that she felt it. I felt the warm passionate love surge through my veins and pour itself out in a torrent of words; I saw her start back to throw herself into my arms and seal our love with a kiss, and then — then — then — what then? I can't remember. The clouds have come again and I am swallowed up in them.

       Was it then, or was it afterwards that he came? I cannot tell now. Was it that day by the seashore, or was it years afterwards in another country, and in a different scene that I saw him throw himself at her feet, and heard him utter words of love which she listened to with longing ears? I cannot remember; the clouds come into my brain and swallow all the recollection up.

       But one thing I can remember. I can see that night plainly before me now. I can recall all its great agony, all its grand triumph. Ha! ha! it was rare sport to hear his bones crackle in the warm, leaping flame. It was joy to see him writhe and twist when he was seized in the arms of the fiery bride he little affected. I was delirious — stop — stop; not delirious; no, no; blot that out. I am sane, perfectly sane, you can see that, can't you? I am quite calm now. Listen, I will tell you how I revenged myself on him for his perfidy in stealing my love. How I paid him back a life for a life. Oh, I am calm now. He stole my love and robbed me of my reason. I know, I know, you say I am mad; wait a minute; wait until the clouds get out of my brain, I will tell you how I took his life — aye, his life — to pay for my reason. But it could not pay for my love; no, no; a hundred lives like his could not have paid for the one love he robbed me of — but I killed him. Ah! ha! I killed him — killed him — killed him. Burnt him up, body and soul. I saw him burning. I lighted the fire. I watched him as his cheek grew pale; as his lip quivered; as his breath came short and his strong hands clutched helplessly at the cords with which I had bound him; I heard him shriek for help, and I laughed — laughed long and loud — and then, and then, the clouds came and I rolled in them, and shouted at man's folly and woman's love, and when I awoke again they told me I was mad. Mad! Well, perhaps, I am. I have loved; all who have loved have been mad.

---

MY earliest ambition was to attain fame as a lawyer. I burned to achieve success at the bar; to force truth and "justice under the law" into the minds of the most unsympathetic and phlegmatic jury, and to rescue injured innocence from the attacks of wrong and injustice and show it pure and spotless before the world.

       I know there is a popular prejudice against lawyers; that the word is often misconstrued "liars," and that the main component part of a lawyer's soul (if he has one, which some people will not admit) is generally believed to be "costs;" but I think that there are rather more law. students who enter on the "practice of the law" with honest intentions than can be found in any other profession. How long these "honest intentions" last I am not prepared to say; but, in the majority of cases, I really believe that they last as long as life does.

       I was brimful of "honest intentions" when I received my degree of B.C.L. from McGill College, Montreal, some ten years ago, and determined to enjoy a vacation, extending over whole summer, before I settled down to the "practice of the law." Yet before that summer was over I had broken what was more than an implied promise, and had greatly failed in my "honest intentions."

       My story, up to this period, may be briefly told as follows: I am the orphan son of a farmer in a small township (which I do not care to particularize) near the border of the United States. Both my parents died while I was quite young, too young indeed to know anything of their love or care. I was left to the guardianship of a bachelor uncle, who lived "across the line," and who carefully nursed for me, during my minority, my small estate. Uncle Bill was and is — for I am glad to say he is still alive — as genial, whole-souled and kindly a man as I have ever met. He is a strict observer of the obligations of honor, and has never been known to break his word.

       My boyish days with Uncle Bill passed very pleasantly, and, having never known the love of either father or mother, both seemed to be made up to me in him. So time slipped away until I was fifteen years of age when, having graduated at our village school, Uncle Bill decided that I should pass the next three years in the high school, Montreal, and then study for a degree in law at McGill. My first term at the high school passed about as pleasantly as such terms pass. I was not "the light of the school," neither was I the dullard, and I returned to Briardell, my uncle's homestead, not much better or worse than I had left it. But Briardell had undergone a great change since I had left it, my aunt Bella (Mrs. Isabella Stewart, widow of George Washington Stewart, who had lately gone to some other world, whether better or worse no one knew) had taken up her residence for the summer with Uncle Bill, and brought with her her only daughter Ettie, a pink skinned, blonde-haired little fairy of twelve.

       George Washington Stewart, whose status in "the unknown world" was rather apocryphal, had had a pretty well-defined position in this world; he had for many years enjoyed a position of trust and emolument under the benign sway of Uncle Sam's Treasury Department, and on his decease left some three hundred and odd thousand evidences, in the shape of dollars, that he had looked after his own interests well, if not after those of his country. Mrs. Stewart was, therefore, a "rich widow," and Ettie was, prospectively "a great heiress;" but I do not think either she or I was aware of the fact when we first met at Briardell, and grew rapidly into that intimacy which so easily springs, up between cousins.

       I like cousins, that is, I like cousins in the abstract, but I like one cousin in particular. Ettie and I soon became friends, then "great friends;" and, as the summer vacation drew to close, we advanced to the stage of boy and girl love so common to youths of fifteen and maidens of twelve; and there I think we should have halted had it not been for Uncle Bill.

       That worthy gentleman, Heaven bless him! had viewed the growing intimacy of his rich niece and his poor nephew with disfavor, and thought it incumbent on him, as our mutual guardian, to admonish me, as the sterner animal, on the subject; therefore, he called me into his private room the evening before my return to school — Mrs. Stewart and Ettie were to remain a few days longer — and addressed me somewhat as follows:

       "Look-a-here, The-o-fullus," (my mother's father was named Theophilus and I was given his name) "yer must git eny fullish noshins abut Tetter out uv yer bed."

       Ettie's proper name was Henriette; she preferred to be known only by the four last letters, and so did her mother and I; but Uncle Bill, and others, insisted upon it that Tetter was the proper abbreviation for Henriette, and so called her; just as many people persisted in calling me "Foley" as an abbreviation of Theophilus, and my uncle always addressed me as The-o-fullus. Uncle Bill paused a few seconds and then continued:

       "Yeou an' Tetter hes been prutty entimet this summer, but yer aint nothin but gal an' boy, an' yer aint to git no foolish noshins in yer heds; so I warn yer Tetter es a great lady with hundreds uv thousands uv dollars comin' to her, an' yer aint got a cent over seventy-five akors of ground thet aint worth the cost uv as much salt es wud enduce hef a dozen sheep to graze on it. So, Foley, don't yer get no foolish noshins in yer hed; yer got to git yer livin' an' mak' yer way in the world; an', meybee, yer may be Presidint ef the States effore yer die — purvided yer live long I tell yer." After which speech he walked off, quite satisfied with his explanation, and I went to bed thinking, for the first time, that I was in love with Ettie.

       Next morning I was to return to school in Montreal, and before I left my uncle spoke to me again.

       "The-o-fullus," said he, "hev yer thought uv what I said to yer last nite?"

       "Yes, uncle, I have," said I; "and I promise you that I will follow your advice with regard to Ettie, as far as possible; and I will never marry for money, but work honestly for my own living."

       "Thet's rite," said he, "stick to thet."

* * * * * * *

       Six years had slipped away since that day when I graduated at McGill, and determined on a six months' trip through the States and West India islands before settling down in Montreal. My uncle had husbanded my seventy-five acres, which he said were not "worth the cost of as much salt as would induce half a dozen sheep to graze on it" so well that, not only had my college expenses been paid, but I had a sufficient surplus to warrant my proposed trip before commencing work. During these six years I had not met Ettie again, although I had often heard of her, and we had occasionally corresponded. Lately her letters had ceased, and for two years past I had not heard from her, and did not even know what part of the States she was living in. So runs my story up to the 15th of June, 1866, when I left Montreal for my six months trip.

       It is unnecessary to dwell on the incidents of my visits to the various large cities of the Union, suffice it to say that I gradually made my way South until I reached New Orleans, from whence I crossed to Havana, and there took the steamer for St Thomas and the Windward West India islands.

       It was a charming afternoon in September when the steamer dropped anchor in Carlisle Bay, Barbadoes, and I was pulled ashore by four stalwart blacks, who captured me and my baggage, and placed both in a rather dirty boat, before I quite understood what was being done to me. Bridgetown, the capital of the island; is a veritable bee-hive of industry, and presents a pretty, animated picture from the bay; but it possesses little or no architectural beauties, and about the only imposing-looking building in the place is the fine old cathedral of St. Michael with its great massive square tower, in which is a good chime of bells and a rather uncertain clock as far as correct time is concerned. The strong point about the island is the garrison, where about a thousand or more English troops and a regiment of blacks are usually stationed. The barracks are very large, well-built and substantial, situated on a bluff at the head of the bay, and are considered the finest and most healthy quarters for troops in the West Indies. The parade ground is large, very level, and well shaded, and it is usual for the troops to be "put under canvas" for a few weeks during the months of August and September, the "hot season" out there. This was the case when I arrived; and, as it chanced to be Thursday, I soon found out that the "correct thing" to do was to go up to the parade ground — about a mile from the town — to hear the band practice, which it did every Thursday afternoon. This is the fashionable assemblage of the island; there all the notables congregate, and there the girls delight to go and have half an-hour's chat or flirtation with the officers of the garrison, for the Barbadoes girls, like girls the world over, are fond of the red coats of the British Army. Beyond the garrison is the little village of Hastings, a favorite bathing place, and "the rocks" at Hastings are a great a sentimental stroll along the sands. I had been furnished with letters of introduction by some friends in New York, and one of my newly formed acquaintances, a young man named Henry Bergen, a clerk in a large commission house, accompanied me to the parade ground, and proposed that we should extend our drive to Hastings rocks, which of course I did. I had noticed that Bergen frequently looked anxiously around while we were on the parade ground, as if searching for some one he could not find; but on reaching the rocks his face lighted up with pleasure as he noticed a handsome landau, drawn by a fine pair of piebald horses, come towards us down the Worthing road and stop at the rocks. Four ladies were seated in the carriage, two of middle age, two just blooming into womanhood.

       I have never seen any one who so thoroughly filled my idea of perfect beauty as one of the young ladies who sat on the front seat of the carriage. I shall not attempt to describe her for two reasons; first, I could not do thorough justice to her, and, secondly, men's ideas of beauty differ so much that, possibly, what I consider exquisitely lovely, you may think ordinary or even plain looking; suffice it to say that the face so attracted me that I involuntarily asked my companion who she was.

       "Miss Stewart," he answered with a blush which showed me there was no doubt what his opinion on the subject of her beauty was. "She is a young lady from the States who, with her mother, is paying a visit to the Jones' while they get some law business settled. Isn't she pretty?"

       I looked at the elder ladies and instantly recognized my aunt, who had changed very little in the six years which had elapsed since I had last seen her, but Ettie had "grown out of all knowledge," as the saying is, and I should never have recognized her again as the golden-haired little beauty with whom I had been so desperately in love six years before at Briardell.

       Bergen, who was acquainted with all the ladies, proposed that we should alight and speak to them, which we did, he kindly introducing me, as I did not tell him I was a relative of the Stewarts. My aunt did not recognize me, and the name, "Mr. Langdon, a gentleman from America," did not seem to help her recollection at all; but Ettie knew me almost instantly, and holding out both hands in her old, impulsive way cried out,

       "Why, it's The!" Somehow no one ever gives me my whole name, I always get it in fragments; sometimes a piece of the beginning, sometimes a part of the end, usually a nickname.

       "You dear old stupid," she continued, getting out of the carriage and slipping her arm through mine in the old familiar manner, "who would ever have thought of seeing you in this out-of-the-way place; and what a fright you look with those great whiskers and beard. You'll just shave all the hair off your face to-morrow, except your moustache, or I'll never speak to you again."

       We walked away from the carriage, and in a few moments were back on the friendly footing of childhood, laughing and talking over old memories and telling each other something of our lives during the past six years. Bergen remained by the carriage moodily, and I noticed his eyes flash as Ettie and I walked away; I paid no attention to it at the time, but I remembered it afterwards.

       Ettie told me how it was I had met her mother and herself in Barbadoes. It appears that amongst the other property George Washington Stewart had left, was a claim to a portion of a sugar plantation in Barbadoes; and as the agent in charge had not been working it satisfactorily of late years, Mrs. Stewart had determined to visit her possession and endeavor to sell the estate. This had taken longer than was expected, as Stewart's partner in the plantation had lately died and the property could not be sold until his son came of age, which would be about Christmas, and Mrs. Stewart had determined to wait until the sale was completed, a purchaser having been found. The heir whose majority they were awaiting was Mr. Henry Bergen, a very devoted admirer of Ettie's, who seemed to think it would be a far better arrangement than selling the estate if a new partner was admitted in the person of Miss Ettie. What the young lady thought on the subject it was difficult to say; when I laughingly tried to joke her about Bergen's very evident admiration, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes glanced half angrily at me as she said,

       "Don't talk nonsense, The; Mr. Bergen and I are very good friends, that is all. You men are all so stupid; if a girl says a civil word to you, you immediately think she is in love with you. What has Mr. Bergen been saying to you?"

       "Nothing. I have seen very little of him the past few days" — this conversation took place a few weeks after my arrival — "and then he has scarcely spoken to me. He seems out of sorts."

       "The," she said very earnestly, "promise me you will not make an enemy of Harry Bergen. You don't know what he may do to you."

       "I have no desire to make him an enemy," I replied lightly; "and I have no fear of anything he can do to me."

       "But promise me," she insisted. "I do not want that man to be your enemy."

       "I will promise anything to please you," I said, trying to be impressive; but, although she blushed slightly, she pretended not to notice the intonation of my voice, and continued,

       "Try to avoid him, The. I know he does not like you, and you must remember that there is insanity in the family."

       "Is there?" I answered carelessly; "I was not aware of the fact. Now you mention it, I remember having noticed several times that he has a strange, wild expression at times. So he is mad?"

       "No. I did not say that; but his father died in the lunatic asylum here, and he has been "queer" two or three times as a boy; but the doctors think he will get over it as he grows older, if he lives a quiet, steady life."

       "Gets married and settles down, eh?" I said, trying to catch her eye; but she rose hastily, glanced out of the window and said,

       "I must go and dress for dinner now. Shall I see you at the rocks this evening?"

       I replied in the affirmative and left the house. In the avenue I met Bergen, and I spoke to him. He glared savagely at me and passed on towards the house without returning my salutation.

       "Mad as a March hare," I soliloquized, as I went back to my hotel to dinner.

       When I landed in Barbadoes I had intended to remain there only a day or two, and as soon as I had visited "Hackleton's Clfff," "the Animal Flower Cave" and "The Boiling Spring," (the three "sights" of the island) to have taken the first trading vessel for St. Vincent and continue my tour through the beautiful islands of the Caribbean sea; but that chance meeting with Ettie changed my purpose, and indeed changed my whole life, and I lingered on from day to day, from week to week, falling more and more in love every time I saw my cousin. My "honest intention" on being admitted to "the practice of the law" was to earn a competency before I thought of marriage, and that I would never so demean myself as to owe fortune to my wife, but that resolve was gone, and I found myself hanging on every word Ettie uttered, and constantly trying to decide whether she really returned my love or whether she had only that cousinly feeling for me which sometimes comes so near to being love and yet is not. While at dinner I resolved, for the hundredth time, to "know my fate" that evening, and with that resolve went to keep my appointment with Ettie at the rocks.

       It was "band" evening and the rocks were crowded. I saw the Jones' carriage with Mrs. Stewart in it, but Ettie was not there, she had doubtless alighted for a stroll along the beach as usual, and, after saluting my aunt, I turned to seek her. As I turned I saw her. She was standing on the highest point of the rock, leaning against a wall which bounded a private residence; and by her side was Henry Bergen. He was speaking rapidly and gesticulating violently, and she appeared terrified, and anxious to break from him. Suddenly he threw himself on his knees and his words poured forth in an almost unbroken torrent as he declared his love and pleaded his suit with her. By this time I was quite close, and as Ettie turned to leave him she saw me and sprang towards me. Bergen jumped to his feet and faced me. Never can I forget that wild, despairing look, nor the gleam of madness starting from his strained and glaring eyes.

       "Ah," he shouted rather than spoke, "it is you. She leaves me to go to you; but it shall not be. You shall not have her, she is mine, mine, mine! We are going to be married beneath the sea," and with a wild laugh he sprung on Ettie, seized her in his arms and leaped off the rocks into the water below.

       The movement was so quick that although I was within a yard of him I could not arrest him before he took the desperate leap, and Ettie's terrified scream of horror rang out on the calm air, startling the idle loungers into a knowledge of the tragedy attempted to be enacted before them.

       In an instant I had plunged after them and seized the maniac. The rocks at this point are over twenty feet high, and the waves break under them into a cavern formed by the constant surging of the waters; fortunately, however, the tide was out and the water was not over two feet deep. Bergen turned as I touched him, and loosing his hold of Ettie allowed her to drop into the water while he turned on me. I am naturally powerful, and my athletic training at McGill had greatly developed my muscles; but I was no match for the raving lunatic who rushed on me like a demon and strove to throw me, into the water. I struck him a heavy blow in the face, but he did not heed it, and in another second he had closed with me, and what I knew was a struggle for my life had commenced. Strong as I am I felt like a child in his grasp, and in less time than it takes to write it he had forced my feet from under me and we both fell into the water, he above me holding me down and endeavoring to keep my head under water. The struggle was brief but fierce, and I felt my strength failing me, when help arrived, in the shape of some gentlemen who had run down the rock to the beach and hastened to my assistance. Even with this assistance it was a difficult task to secure the madman and take him to the shore, which Ettie had already reached, and where I was speedily assisted, for I was too much exhausted to stand alone.

       That night I told Ettie of my love and learned that I was loved in return. Mrs. Stewart, with whom I was a great favorite, willingly gave her consent. Indeed I think she was secretly very much obliged to me, for she was greatly afraid of Ettie's falling in love with one of the "red coats" and being separated from her.

       My aunt's consent to my union with Ettie was, however, conditional. She approved of the marriage, but required that I should return at once to Montreal, commence practice, and the wedding should take place a year from the next Christmas. Of course I consented — I would have consented to any terms — and left Barbadoes about the middle of November, Mrs. Stewart promising to be in Canada early in the ensuing year. Harry Bergen was then in the lunatic asylum, apparently a confirmed lunatic,

       I returned to Montreal, and at once secured an office on that portion of St. James street then known as "Little" St. James street, and entered on "the practice of the law." Everything went well with me. I got a large amount of business, for a young lawyer, and, before my first year had expired, I had gained some celebrity by winning two or three rather difficult cases. My aunt came on in the spring and, partly to please Ettie, bought a house in Montreal and decided to settle there.

       So matters stood with me on the day before Christmas, and an eventful day it seemed to me, and so it proved to be, although not in the way I had expected, for I was to be married on Christmas day.

       I spent Christmas Eve at my aunt's house and did not leave until nearly eleven o'clock, when I went to my room over my office in Little St James street, which I was to occupy for the last time that night.

       My office was one of five on the second flat of an old-fashioned brick building; and the third flat was divided into four rooms, with a bath room and a large roomy vault for storing books, papers, etc. The place was very convenient and suitable for bachelors, and the four rooms were occupied by young men, like myself, who were just starting in the world and had not yet made a name, or a home.

       The vault was one of the "institutions" to use an Americanism — of the house. Why it had ever been built on the third flat nobody knew, yet there it was; what use it could be put to no one could tell, until one day I invited a reporter to visit me; and, in showing him the conveniences of the place, he noticed the vault and said, "What a splendid place that is for you fellows to keep your beer. It is cool, all lined with iron, with an iron door — and has a gas jet in it, so that you can always get a light. By jove, it is a handy place for beer!" and he looked about wistfully as if he wondered that no one had ever before thought of what a useful purpose the vault could be put to, and, therefore, stocked it with "Bass" or "Dawes," or some other brand congenial to his palate. That hint of the reporter's "took;" and from that time the vault was used as a receptacle for beer, the door being left unlocked so that the four of us living on the flat could have free access at any time.

       When I reached my room that Christmas Eve after parting from Ettie, I found all the rooms on the "living" flat — as we used to call it — unoccupied. My fellow-lodgers had, evidently, not finished their Christmas Eve yet.

       I lighted the gas, lit a pipe; and, having donned my slippers and dressing-gown, sat before the fire and took a look into the future. I thought of what a great change to-morrow would make in my life; how different it would be to have some one waiting for me at the door when I came home, not the scarred, blistered, and "unpainted for twenty years" door which now admitted me to my "home" (?); but to a real home, with a real wife and real additions in the prospective future.

       It was a jolly train of thought, and I do not know which gave out first, the pipe or the "additions in the prospective future;" but the last thing I can remember distinctly was that my eldest son was appointed Governor General of Canada, and that, following the example of Mr. U. S. Grant, President of the United States, he had appointed me postmaster for Montreal. I was just completing a scheme for building a new post office when I lost consciousness; and how long I slept I do not know.

       My awakening was a rude one.

       The first sensation I experienced, that I can remember, was one of suffocation. I struggled, and wrestled, like one in a nightmare; and finally, by a great effort, awoke.

       Awoke to what? To find myself gagged and bound hand and foot to the chair I had been sitting in when I dropped to sleep; and standing between me and the fire was a form which at first I took to be only a remnant of my nightmare, but which I soon found to be a stern reality.

       It was the form of Henry Bergen.

       He was watching me with a fixed, steady gaze, as if noting every breath I drew; and as I opened my eyes and became conscious he changed his position, and seemed relieved to find that I was awake.

       "You are surprised to see me," he said quite calmly, although the light of madness smouldered in his eyes. "You did not expect me? Ha! ha! never mind. You might have invited an old friend to your wedding, but you didn't and I have invited myself. It will be a jolly wedding; oh, such fun! A bride waiting for a bridegroom who will never come — never, never come. I have escaped from the prison you threw me into; I have crossed the seas; I have followed you like a sleuth hound until I have tracked you down. Oh, it is rare fun. You thought to have her; you thought you could outwit me — no, no; I am too clever for you, and to-morrow, while your bones are lying charred and blackened amongst the ruins of this house, I will console your bride for you — your bride? She shall be my bride. As for you I have prepared a bride for you, death; come and see how pleasant I will make it for you."

       He lifted the chair in which I was bound and carried me with ease out of the room into the vault and deposited the chair in the centre of it. The gas was lighted, and I noticed that a bottle with a candle stuck in its mouth had been placed in one corner. There was nothing else in the vault except a few bottles of beer.

       Bergen looked at me for a few moments and laughed; then he lit the candle which was in the bottle and placed it near my feet; he then crossed to the gas burner and turned the light out, still keeping his hand on it, however. He then laughed again and said:

       "I've turned the gas off, but I am going to turn it on again, only this time I shall not light it." He turned on the gas and then continued; "I shall lock the vault door and leave you with the escaping gas and the burning light; when the vault is filled with gas there will be an explosion and you will be blown to atoms. Ha! ha! it's funny, isn't it! It needed a madman to think out such a fine revenge. You stole my love. I'll steal your life. Good night."

       He stepped out of the vault, and I heard the door closed and locked.

       My situation was truly terrible, and there seemed to be no possible escape from a horrible death. I was most securely bound to the chair, my hands being strapped behind its back and my feet firmly fastened to the lower rung in front, while two stout cords around my body held me securely to the back of the chair. I was gagged; but so gagged that I could breathe, although I could not cry out. To release myself was impossible, and there appeared to be no means of attracting attention to my condition, even had there been any one on the flat, which I knew there was not, as the three friends who occupied rooms there had gone into the country to spend Christmas, and would not be back for two days. The janitor lived in the basement, and there was no one else in the building.

       I fully realized my position, and knew that my death was almost inevitable; but I did not quite despair. The gas burner, which was now open and fast filling the vault with noxious vapor, was very near the floor; and, if I could get to it, I might be able to reach up to it and turn it off with my teeth. Although I was only five or six feet from the side of the vault where the gas burner was, it took me a long time to jerk and twist my chair over to it, and the vault was now so filled with gas, that every moment I expected the fatal explosion to take place. At last I reached the burner and by a great effort stretched my neck up so that one end of the wooden gag which was in my mouth rested against the screw and in a few seconds more I had pushed it round and shut off the stream of poisonous vapor.

       I was saved for the present; but was so exhausted and overpowered by the gas that I fell to the ground insensible, bringing the chair down with me.

       When I recovered consciousness I found that almost all the gas had escaped out of the vault, and the air was comparatively pure, but intensely cold, and my limbs were so benumbed I could not move. Some hours must have elapsed, as the candle had burned almost out, and I supposed it must be nearly morning; but would morning bring relief? I scarcely hoped so. I should not be missed until near mid-day; and when I was missed, who would think of searching for me in the old vault? It was with a bitter pang that I resigned myself to the idea that I was doomed to pass many hours, perhaps days, in that gloomy vault unable to make myself heard. I was to have been married at eleven o'clock; but all chance of that was over now, for even should I be released in time, I was in too weak and exhausted a condition to do more than be put to bed.

       Wearily the minutes dragged themselves away, and the candle went out, leaving me in darkness. Then a new fear came to me: suppose Bergen should return to see if his work was completed? There would be no hope for me then. The idea grew, and grew until my brain reeled and I again became unconscious.

       When I awoke to reason again I found myself in bed in my own room with a doctor and some friends attending me.

       I owed my deliverance to my reporting friend's weakness for beer. He had awoke very thirsty about ten o'clock on Christmas morning, and having no beer in his boarding house, had come to my rooms where he knew there was a supply, and so found me. There was no wedding that day, and it was several weeks before my system recovered from the severe shock it had received; then Ettie and I were married and spent our honeymoon where we had learned to love each other, in Barbadoes.

       How Bergen found me out I do not know. He had been discharged from the asylum in Barbadoes some months after I, left the island, and started on a pleasure trip to Europe; very little more was heard of him until he appeared in my room on that memorable Christmas Eve. He must have been in Montreal some days watching me; but I never discovered where he had been staying. After locking me in the vault he went to the St. Lawrence Hall and spoke and acted so strangely that a policeman was called who took him to the station house "for safe keeping," and he was shortly after sent down to Beauport, where he now is a confirmed lunatic.