All my husband's love and tenderness rose in remembrance, vindicating his aspersed honor.

She had forged the tale,--she had stolen the picture,--she was an impostor and a wretch.
"At morning light, I awakened Peggy, and demanded of her what had occurred during my insensible state, and what had become of the strange woman.

Peggy said that the piercing shrieks of the stranger brought her to the parlor, where I lay like a corpse on the carpet, and she kneeling over me, ringing her hands, and uttering unintelligible words.
"'You have killed her,' cried Peggy, pushing back the stranger, and taking me in her strong arms.
"'_Je le sais, mon Dieu, je le sais_,' exclaimed she, lifting her clasped hands to heaven.

Peggy did not understand French, but she repeated the words awkwardly enough, yet I could interpret them.
"As they found it impossible to recall me to life, a physician was summoned, and as soon as he came the stranger disappeared.
"'Don't think of her anymore,' said Peggy; 'don't, Mrs.St.James,--I don't believe a word of her story,--she's crazy,--she's a lunatic, you may be sure she is,--she looked stark mad.' "I tried to believe this assertion, but something told me she was no maniac.

I tried to believe her an impostor,--I asserted she was,--but if so, she transcended all the actresses in the world.