resolution was fixed to carry it through but:--still there was the
but,--how was he to open it to Doctor Colligan? He walked up and down
the gravel path for a long time, thinking of this; or rather trying to
think of it, for his thoughts would fly away to all manner of other
subjects, and he continually found himself harping upon some trifle,
connected with Anty, but wholly irrespective of her death; some little
thing that she had done for him, or ought to have done; something she
had said a long time ago, and which he had never thought of till now;
something she had worn, and which at the time he did not even know that
he had observed; and as often as he found his mind thus wandering, he
would start off at a quicker pace, and again endeavour to lay out a
line of conduct for the evening.

At last, however, he came to the conclusion that it would be better to
trust to the chapter of chances: there was one thing, or rather two
things, he could certainly do: he could make the doctor half drunk
before he opened on the subject, and he would take care to be in the
same state himself. So he walked in and sat still before the fire, for
the two long remaining hours, which intervened before the clock struck
six.

It was about noon when the doctor left him, and during those six long
solitary hours no one feeling of remorse had entered his breast. He had
often doubted, hesitated as to the practicability of his present plan,
but not once had he made the faintest effort to overcome the wish to
have the deed done. There was not one moment in which he would not most
willingly have had his sister's blood upon his hands, upon his brain,
upon his soul; could he have willed and accomplished her death, without
making himself liable to the penalties of the law.