“Then she said that she had entrusted a bundle of letters to my late wife; she could not possibly keep them at her own house owing to their peculiar character, and asked whether I would be good enough to return them to her. I felt a chill down my spine as I listened to her. With assumed calm I asked her what those contained? She trembled at the question and said:
“ `Your wife was the most faithful and loyal woman I ever met. She did not ask what they contained; she even gave me her word never to look into them.”
“ `Where did she keep your letters?`
“ `She said she kept them under lock and key in the drawer of her sewing-table. They are tied with a pink ribbon. You will easily recognize them. Thirty letters in all.`
“I took her to the room where the sewing-table stood and opened the drawer. I took out the bundle and handed it to her.
“ `Are these the letters?`
“She reached out for them eagerly. I dared not raise my eyes for fear she might read something in them. She left soon afterward.
Hastiness and cruelty
“Exactly one week after the burial a stinging pain visited the spot on my hand where the drop of blood fell on that terrible night. The rest you know. I know it is nothing but auto-suggestion, but I cannot rid myself of it. It is my punishment for the hastiness and cruelty with which I murdered my innocent and lovely girl.
I no longer try to struggle against it. I am going to join her and will try to obtain her pardon. She will surely forgive me. She will love me just as she loved me when she lived. I thank you, Doctor, for all you have done for me.”
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