suffered and am not without sin."

Casting his eyes upon me now for the first time, the man scowled with
dogged sullenness, and said:

"I want no help."

"Nay," said I, "your looks belie your words; come, go with me to my quiet
cottage; there you shall refresh yourself; you shall sleep to-night in
peace."

"Peace!" he repeated scornfully. "I know no peace; nor can I leave this
spot till every eye beholds the horrid deed that I committed here."

"Friend," said I, "tell me the nature of your crime; reveal to me your
secret and your heart will be lighter for it."

"Ha! ha!" he answered, his voice dying away in a low wail. "Look upon
that wall opposite the bed; it will speak better than I can." I looked,
and beheld a faint photograph or impression of the couch, with its
handsome drapery. Upon it reclined the figure of a female, and bending
over her appeared the form of a man, whose livid face and black,
disordered hair I recognized as an unmistakable reflection of the
unfortunate man before me.

"You see that 'the very stones cry out against me,'" said he. "Every
night for two years have I enacted that same scene, and I am held by some
unseen, influence to this baneful spot."

"Tell me your story," said I; "hide nothing--I am your friend."