captain pulled his arm away, to the relief of the frightened peasant.

"M. D'Effernay," he said, "your conduct for the last half-hour has
been most unaccountable--most unreasonable."

"Come, come," interposed Edward, "Let us say no more on the subject;
but let us be going," he addressed the rector; "we will not detain
these gentlemen much longer."

He made a step toward the churchyard, but D'Effernay clutched his arm,
and, with an impious oath, "you shall not stir," he said; "that grave
shall not be opened."

Edward shook him off, with a look of silent hatred, for now indeed all
his doubts were confirmed.

D'Effernay saw that Wensleben was resolved, and a deadly pallor spread
itself over his features, and a shudder passed visibly over his frame.

"You are going!" he cried, with every gesture and appearance of
insanity. "Go, then;" ... and he pointed the muzzle of the pistol to
his mouth, and before any one could prevent him, he drew the trigger,
and fell back a corpse. The spectators were motionless with surprise
and horror; the captain was the first to recover himself in some
degree. He bent over the body with the faint hope of detecting some
sign of life. The old man turned pale and dizzy with a sense of
terror, and he looked as if he would have swooned, had not Edward led
him gently into his house, while the two others busied themselves with
vain attempts to restore life.