The spirit of D'Effernay had gone to its last account!

It was, indeed, an awful moment. Death in its worst shape was before
them, and a terrible duty still remained to be performed.

Edward's cheek was blanched; his eye had a fixed look, yet he moved
and spoke with a species of mechanical action, which had something
almost ghastly in it. Causing the body to be removed into the house,
he bade the captain summon the servants of the deceased, and then
motioning with his hand to the awe-struck sexton, he proceeded with
him to the churchyard. A few clods of earth alone were removed ere the
captain stood by his friend's side.

Here we must pause. Perhaps it were better altogether to emulate the
silence that was maintained then and afterward by the two comrades.
But the sexton could not be bribed to entire secrecy, and it was a
story he loved to tell, with details we gladly omit, of how Wensleben
solemnly performed his task--of how no doubt could any longer exist
as to the cause of Hallberg's death. Those who love the horrible must
draw on their own imaginations to supply what we resolutely withhold.

Edward, we believe, never alluded to D'Effernay's death, and all the
awful circumstances attending it, but twice--once, when, with every
necessary detail, he and the captain gave their evidence to the legal
authorities; and once, with as few details as possible, when he had an
interview with the widow of the murderer, the beloved of the victim.
The particulars of this interview he never divulged, for he considered
Emily's grief too sacred to be exposed to the prying eyes of the
curious and the unfeeling. She left the neighborhood immediately,
leaving her worldly affairs in Wensleben's hands, who soon disposed