shall drive there, and see it all at our leisure: then we shall return
in the evening. Good night, Wensleben."

They separated: Edward hurried to his room; his heart overflowed.
Sorrow on the one hand, horror and even hatred on the other, agitated
him by turns. It was long before he could sleep. For the third time
the vision haunted him; but now it was clearer than before; now he
saw plainly the features of him who lay in bed, and of him who stood
beside the bed--they were those of Hallberg and of D'Effernay.

This third apparition, the exact counterpart of the two former (only
more vivid), all that he had gathered from conversations on the
subject, and the contents of Emily's letter, left scarcely the shadow
of a doubt remaining as to how his friend had left the world.

D'Effernay's jealous and passionate nature seemed to allow of the
possibility of such a crime, and it could scarcely be wondered at, if
Edward regarded him with a feeling akin to hatred. Indeed the desire
of visiting Hallberg's grave, in order to place the ring in the
coffin, could alone reconcile Wensleben to the idea of remaining any
longer beneath the roof of a man whom he now considered the murderer
of his friend. His mind was a prey to conflicting doubts; detestation
for the culprit, and grief for the victim, pointed out one line of
conduct, while the difficulty of proving D'Effernay's guilt, and still
more, pity and consideration for Emily, determined him at length to
let the matter rest, and to leave the murderer, if such he really
were, to the retribution which his own conscience and the justice of
God would award him. He would seek his friend's grave, and then he
would separate from D'Effernay, and never see him more. In the midst
of these reflections the servant came to tell him that the carriage