It had seemed to him that he was a shipwrecked man alone in mid-ocean, seated on a single rock o'ertopping the waves. All about him were the smooth green waters lapping the rock and gently laving his feet. It was very hot, the sun blazed down upon him; and yet he felt no present pain, only a terror of what was to come. The shriek of the sea-mew sounded in his ears—it was but the sweet voice of his caged ringdove cooing to him—and a foul carrion-bird flapped its wings as it circled slowly about him; still no pain, only a growing apprehension as the sea-water, grown hot and biting, rose about the rock, rippling against his knees with a sound as of faint diabolic laughter. Higher and higher rose the flood, till hip and breast and chin were covered; and ah! at last he had found his voice. As the bitter water rushed into his mouth he gave a strangling cry and started to his feet, to find himself alone in his apartment, his own haggard face, reflected in the mirror, the only thing of all that fearful vision that remained. Then came "remembrance risen from hell," and he cried out again; but this time his voice was sharp with sorrow only, the terror born of the moment's madness was passed.
"Margaret! Margaret!" he cried, "how could you deceive me so? False! false! false! Like
