It was a dreadful charge that I was about to insinuate. I was to accuse
my companion of nothing less than murder. I was to call upon him for an
avowal of his^ guilt. I was to state the ground of my suspicions, and
desire him to confute or confirm them. In doing this, I was principally
stimulated by an ungovernable curiosity; yet, if I intended not the
conferring of a benefit, I did not, at least, purpose the infliction of
evil. I persuaded myself that I was able to exclude from my bosom all
sanguinary or vengeful impulses; and that, whatever should be the issue
of this conversation, my equanimity would be unsubdued.

I revolved various modes of introducing the topic by which my mind was
engaged. I passed rapidly from one to another. None of them were
sufficiently free from objection to allow me to adopt it. My perplexity
became, every moment, more painful, and my ability to extricate myself,
less.

In this state of uncertainty, so much time elapsed, that the elm at
length appeared in sight. This object had somewhat of a mechanical
influence upon me. I stopped short, and seized the arm of my companion.
Till this moment, he appeared to have been engrossed by his own
reflections, and not to have heeded those emotions which must have been
sufficiently conspicuous in my looks.

This action recalled him from his reverie. The first idea that occurred
to him, when he had noticed my behaviour, was, that I was assailed by
some sudden indisposition.

"What is the matter?" said he, in a tone of anxiety: "are you not well?"

"Yes," replied I,--"perfectly well. But stop a moment; I have something