Marston, breathing fast, and looking very pale. "I heard at the prison
that the murderer, Merton, was fast dying, and now is in an unconscious
state; and from the physician, that you had seen him, at his urgent
entreaty, last night. My mind misgives me, sir, I fear I know not what. I
long, yet dread, to hear the wretched man's confession. For God's sake
tell me, does it implicate anybody else in the guilt?"

"No; no one specifically; but it has thrown a hideous additional mystery
over the occurrence. Listen to me, my dear sir, and the whole narrative,
as he stated it to me, shall be related now to you," said Dr. Danvers.

Marston had closed the door carefully, and they sate down together at the
further end of the apartment. Marston, breathless and ghastly pale; his
lips compressed--his brows knit--and his dark, dilated gaze fixed
immovably upon the speaker. Dr. Danvers, on the other hand, tranquil and
solemn, and with, perhaps, some shade of awe overcasting the habitual
sweetness of his countenance.

"His confession was a strange one," renewed Dr. Danvers, shaking his head
gravely. "He said that the first idea of the crime was suggested by Sir
Wynston's man accidentally mentioning, a few days after their arrival,
that his master slept with his bank-notes, to the amount of some hundreds
of pounds, in a pocketbook under his pillow. He declared that as the man
mentioned this circumstance, something muttered the infernal suggestion
in his ear, and from that moment he was the slave of that one idea; it
was ever present with him. He contended against it in vain; he dreaded
and abhorred it; but still it possessed him; he felt his power of
resistance yielding. This horrible stranger which had stolen into his
heart, waxed in power and importunity, and tormented him day and night.
He resolved to fly from the house. He gave notice to you and Mrs.