clear. You must take care of the body. And I'd advise you to be devilish cautious that no one catches sight of it. Who can tell how you might be misunderstood?

Mr. W. Ferdinand, you are driving me mad. Do you mean to say that while you are taking a journey to America and returning, I am to remain here keeping guard over your poor aunt's body?

Fer. My dear uncle, be a philosopher. As you very properly said just now, there is a skeleton in every man's cupboard.

Mr. W. Damme, sir, yes. I've had a skeleton long enough, and I've done my best to bear it—but I never expected my cupboard to contain a frozen wife, and under the circumstances I don't know how to conduct myself.

Fer. Be a man,—and finish the port.

Mr. W. But how am I to explain her absence to other people?

Fer. Confound it, uncle, you've no imagination. Say she's gone out for a walk.

Mr. W. And supposing your ship is wrecked, and you and your d—d bottle go to the bottom?

Fer. In that case, uncle, I can only wish you well; and, believe me, I will do so. I won't worry you any more now, for your hands are full, and you will like to be left alone to form your own plans. Farewell. If I'm not back with the bottle in ten minutes, think of me on my way to America.

(Exit Ferdinand Swift, door R.)

Mr. W. What a heartless ruffian! How easily he takes it all, and how little he feels for me! How different are our lots! He goes to America: I have to remain here—here, in this awful house, with this dread mystery locked up in a cupboard. If anything happens, it is he who is guilty, and not I; and yet I dare not interfere with his departure, for my only chance depends upon his safe return with the antidote. And how am I to pass the time until he does return? What schemes must I not invent to Emily and the servants to account for the prolonged absence of Mrs. Watmuff! How am I to explain away the continually locked cupboard? There can be no earthly chance for me. Mrs. Watmuff will be missed—will be searched for—will be found—and long before that wretched nephew of mine returns with her restorative, she will be in her grave, and I shall have been hung as her murderer. As these and a thousand other horrible results of my mad act rush through my disordered mind, my brain is on fire, and I feel that I am going mad. One chance, and one only, remains to me. Ferdinand may find the remedy at his hotel: if so, he and my poor wronged wife will want a warm bath. Thank goodness, there is one thing that I can do. I will go and see that the water is hot. (Exit Mr. Watmuff, door R.)

(Mrs. Watmuff appears at door of cupboard.)

Mrs. W. Poor conscience-stricken imbecile! Oh! my parents, what must you not have thought during the last half-hour! Teach me in the future how to deal with this most miserable and misguided of men.

(Walter Litherland and Emily enter door L., talking.)

Walter. Yes, Emily, I must say farewell.

Mrs. W. (aside). How! He here again? Now can I learn the real sentiments of these young people. I do not forget the timely warning of the young man, and shall be glad to find that he has been misjudged. My parents, I thank you for the opportunity thus vouchsafed me.

(Mrs. Watmuff retires into the cupboard.)

Walter (aside to Emily). It's all right; she's still there; I heard her. (Aloud.) Let us sit, dearest (places two chairs close to cupboard), and I will explain to you all that I mean—all that I feel.

Emily. Walter, I will do so, because I know that our parting is at hand; otherwise, after my dear mother's expressed wish that we should see each other no more, I could not have consented to converse alone with you.

Walter. Your tender allusion to your mother, Emily, makes my task a comparatively easy one. I confess that my object in seeking this interview was that I might, tenderly and devotedly, bid you farewell.

Emily. I knew it. Something in your manner, Walter, told me that it was to be so; and though my heart will break at our parting, I shall know that it is only some wise purpose which induces you to leave me.

Walter. Emily, it is right that I should tell you all. You have alluded to your mother. You know that in the first delirium of my love for you I was inclined—God forgive me!—to resent the manifest objections which that honored lady showed towards my pretensions. Hot-headed fool that I was, Emily, I cruelly misjudged her. I thought that her objections were mere prejudices. Circumstances have since come to my knowledge which have convinced me that—though we cannot yet quite see why—she is right, and that, distress us as it may, we are in duty bound to bow before her greater experience, and to yield to her wisely dispensed commands.

Emily. Walter, an inward voice tells me that you are right. Without asking why, we ought to acquiesce in her views. Sometimes I fear that my poor mother's life is not so happy as it should be.

Walter. Indeed it is not. Your father—but no, I can at least spare you the pain of that sad story. We are both familiar with your dear mother's loving and tender allusions to the memory of her parents. May you, in years to come, enjoy the same proud privilege! May I, when old and gray-headed, at least be able to think that I left my Emily in that luxury, a lifelong legacy! And now, my dearest, I shall kiss you once, and bid you a last good-by.

Emily. No, Walter; you will not kiss me. At such a season as this, when we have agreed to part, such an act would be on your part unmanly, on mine unmaidenly. I will open the street door for you; more I cannot do.

(Exeunt Walter and Emily, door L. Mrs. Watmuff again appears at door of cupboard.)

Mrs. W. Oh, most excellent young man! Oh, most dutiful of daughters! You have indeed earned the blessing of your mother, and straightway you shall have it. I will to them, and delay his departure. (Exit Mrs. Watmuff, door L.)

(Enter Mr. Watmuff, door R., carrying two cans of hot water.)

Mr. W. I thought it would never boil, and yet I was boiling over all the time. Oh, what a hideous time this is! But I have made up my mind. I can bear this no longer; and, antidote or no antidote, I shall try and thaw the poor thing with hot water. My poor darling! (Opens cupboard door and finds it empty. He sinks with a shriek into the nearest chair.) Oh, horror! horror! horror! The body has been discovered and removed. All is over now—I am indeed undone!

(Enter Ferdinand Swift, door R.)

Fer. Undone? Not a bit of it. Overdone, I should say, from the look of you. Don't be an old lunatic. Pull yourself together. Look here—(shaking him)—it's all right; I've found my other bottle; here it is. She'll be herself