"I feared so much that when the body of the murdered man should be
discovered, there would be some clue which would point to the guilty
party! Such a night as I passed, while they searched for the body! I
thought I should go mad!" She hid her face in her hands, and her figure
shook like a leaf in the autumn wind.

"When the dog took us to the graveyard, I thought I would be the first
inside--I would see if there was anything left on the ground to point to
the real murderer. You remember that I picked up something, do you not?"

"I do. Your glove, was it not?"

"Yes. It was my glove! I defy the whole world to take it from me! I would
die before such a proof should be brought against the man I love!" she
cried wildly. "See here!"

She drew from her bosom a kid glove, stained and stiff with blood.

"Margie, have you ever seen it before? Look here. It has been mended;
sewed with blue silk! Do you remember anything about it?"

"Yes; I saw you mend it at Cape May," she answered, the words forced from
her, apparently, without her volition.

"You are right. He had torn it while rowing me out, one morning. I saw
the rent and offered to repair it. He makes his gloves wear well, doesn't
he?"

"O don't! don't! how can you! Alexandrine, wake me, for mercy's sake!