"I once imagined that he who killed Waldegrave inflicted the greatest
possible injury on me. That was an error, which reflection has cured.
Were futurity laid open to my view, and events, with their consequences,
unfolded, I might see reason to embrace the assassin as my best friend.
Be comforted."

He was still incapable of speaking; but tears came to his relief.
Without attending to my remonstrances, he betrayed a disposition to
return. I had, hitherto, hoped for some disclosure, but now feared that
it was designed to be withheld. He stopped not till we reached
Inglefield's piazza. He then spoke, for the first time, but in a hollow
and tremulous voice:--

"You demand of me a confession of crimes. You shall have it. Some time
you shall have it. When it will be, I cannot tell. Something must be
done, and shortly."

He hurried from me into the house, and, after a pause, I turned my
steps home wards. My reflections, as I proceeded, perpetually revolved
round a single point. These were scarcely more than a repetition, with
slight variations, of a single idea.

When I awoke in the morning, I hied, in fancy, to the wilderness. I saw
nothing but the figure of the wanderer before me. I traced his footsteps
anew, retold my narrative, and pondered on his gestures and words. My
condition was not destitute of enjoyment. My stormy passions had
subsided into a calm, portentous and awful. My soul was big with
expectation. I seemed as if I were on the eve of being ushered into a
world whose scenes were tremendous but sublime. The suggestions of