sleep cannot soothe miseries like mine; that I am alike infested by
memory in wakefulness and slumber. Yet I was anew distressed by the
discovery that my thoughts found their way to my lips, without my being
conscious of it, and that my steps wandered forth unknowingly and
without the guidance of my will.

The story you have told is not incredible. The disaster to which you
allude did not fail to excite my regret. I can still weep over the
untimely fall of youth and worth. I can no otherwise account for my
frequenting his shade than by the distant resemblance which the death of
this man bore to that of which I was the perpetrator. This resemblance
occurred to me at first. If he were able to weaken the impression which
was produced by my crime, this similitude was adapted to revive and
enforce them.

The wilderness, and the cave to which you followed me, were familiar to
my Sunday rambles. Often have I indulged in audible griefs on the cliffs
of that valley. Often have I brooded over my sorrows in the recesses of
that cavern. This scene is adapted to my temper. Its mountainous
asperities supply me with images of desolation and seclusion, and its
headlong streams lull me into temporary forgetfulness of mankind.

I comprehend you. You suspect me of concern in the death of Waldegrave.
You could not do otherwise. The conduct that you have witnessed was that
of a murderer. I will not upbraid you for your suspicions, though I have
bought exemption from them at a high price.