"It is true that my hand dealt the blow, but her death lies at your
door."

As I walked away my knees seemed to bend under me, and I entered my house
determined to commit suicide,--

With this fearful idea, I gave orders that I was not at home to anyone.
As soon as I got to my room I put my watches, rings, snuff-boxes, purse
and pocket-book in my casket, and shut it up in my escritoire. I then
wrote a letter to the Venetian ambassador, informing him that all my
property was to go to M. de Bragadin after my death. I sealed the letter
and put it with the casket, and took the key with me, and also silver to
the amount of a few guineas. I took my pistols and went out with the firm
intention of drowning myself in the Thames, near the Tower of London.

Pondering over my plan with the utmost coolness, I went and bought some
balls of lead as large as my pockets would hold, and as heavy as I could
bear, to carry to the Tower, where I intended to go on foot. On my way I
was strengthened in my purpose by the reflection, that if I continued to
live I should be tormented for the remainder of my days by the pale shade
of the Charpillon reproaching me as her murderer. I even congratulated
myself on being able to carry out my purpose without any effort, and I
also felt a secret pride in my courage.

I walked slowly on account of the enormous weight I bore, which would
assure me a speedy passage to the bottom of the river.

By Westminster Bridge my good fortune made me meet Sir Edgar, a rich
young Englishman, who lived a careless and joyous life. I had made his