"Look you, Houseman," continued Aram drawing his comrade from the path
into a wilder part of the scene, and, as he spoke, his words were couched
in a more low and inward voice than heretofore. "Look you, I cannot live
and have my life darkened thus by your presence. Is not the world wide
enough for us both? Why haunt each other? what have you to gain from me?
Can the thoughts that my sight recalls to you be brighter, or more
peaceful, than those which start upon me, when I gaze on you? Does not a
ghastly air, a charnel breath, hover about us both? Why perversely incur
a torture it is so easy to avoid? Leave me--leave these scenes. All earth
spreads before you--choose your pursuits, and your resting place
elsewhere, but grudge me not this little spot."

"I have no wish to disturb you, Eugene Aram, but I must live; and in
order to live I must obey my companions; if I deserted them, it would be
to starve. They will not linger long in this district; a week, it may be;
a fortnight, at most; then, like the Indian animal, they will strip the
leaves, and desert the tree. In a word, after we have swept the country,
we are gone."

"Houseman, Houseman!" said Aram passionately, and frowning till his brows
almost hid his eyes, but that part of the orb which they did not hide,
seemed as living fire; "I now implore, but I can threaten--beware!--
silence, I say;" (and he stamped his foot violently on the ground, as he
saw Houseman about to interrupt him;) "listen to me throughout--Speak not
to me of tarrying here--speak not of days, of weeks--every hour of which
would sound upon my ear like a death-knell. Dream not of a sojourn in
these tranquil shades, upon an errand of dread and violence--the minions
of the law aroused against you, girt with the chances of apprehension and
a shameful death--" "And a full confession of my past sins," interrupted