had been making all this preamble to prejudice the old gentleman in
the right direction, lest afterwards Leopold's plausibility might be
too much for him. So I echoed the spirit of his exclamation,
declaring it was one of the saddest things I had ever known, that a
fellow of such sweet and gentle nature, one utterly incapable of
unkindness, not to say violence, should be so possessed by misery
and remorse for a phantom-deed, no more his than if he had dreamed
it, a thing he not only did not do, but never could have done. I had
not yet however told him, I said, what was perhaps the saddest point
in the whole sad story--namely, that the attack had been brought on
by the news of the actual murder of a lady to whom he had been
passionately attached; the horror of it had unhinged his reason,
then turned and fastened upon his imagination; so that he was now
convinced beyond the reach of argument or even the clearest proof,
that it was his own hand that drove the knife to her heart. Then I
recalled to his memory the case as reported, adding that the fact of
the murderer's prolonged evasion of justice, appeared, by some
curious legerdemain of his excited fancy, if not to have suggested--
of that I was doubtful--yet to have ripened his conviction of guilt.
Now nothing would serve him but he must give himself up,
confess--no, that was not a true word in his case!--accuse himself
of the crime, and meet his fate on the gallows,--'in the hope,
observe, my dear sir,' I said, 'of finding her in the other world,
and there making it up with her!'--'God bless me!' he cried again,
in a tone of absolute horror. And every now and then, while I spoke,
he would ejaculate something; and still as he listened his eyes grew
more and more bloodshot with interest and compassion. 'Ah, I see!'
he said then; 'you want to send him to a madhouse?--Don't do it,' he
continued, in a tone of expostulation, almost entreaty. 'Poor boy!
He may get over it. Let his friends look to him. He has a sister,