None thought of my husband's agency in the dark affair except myself; but knowing he had held many secret conferences about the time with Mother Chattox, I more than suspected him.

The sick man died; and from that hour Richard Nutter knew no rest.

Ever on horseback, or fiercely carousing, he sought in vain to stifle remorse.

Visions scared him by night, and vague fears pursued him by day.

He would start at shadows, and talk wildly.