to say to you."

"To me?" answered he, with surprise.

"Yes," said I. "Let us turn down this path," (pointing, at the same
time, to that along which I had followed him the preceding night.)

He now partook, in some degree, of my embarrassment.

"Is there any thing particular?" said he, in a doubting accent. There he
stopped.

"Something," I answered, "of the highest moment. Go with me down this
path. We shall be in less danger of interruption."

He was irresolute and silent, but, seeing me remove the bars and pass
through them, he followed me. Nothing more was said till we entered the
wood. I trusted to the suggestions of the moment. I had now gone too far
to recede, and the necessity that pressed upon me supplied me with
words. I continued:--

"This is a remarkable spot. You may wonder why I have led you to it. I
ought not to keep you in suspense. There is a tale connected with it,
which I am desirous of telling you. For this purpose I have brought you
hither. Listen to me."

I then recapitulated the adventures of the two preceding nights. I added
nothing, nor retrenched any thing. He listened in the deepest silence.
From every incident, he gathered new cause of alarm. Repeatedly he wiped
his face with his handkerchief, and sighed deeply. I took no verbal