our in the street, the door was partly opened,
and I saw the mother all in tears, but she would not let me come in. She
said her daughter was in the last agony. At the same instant a pale and
thin old man came out, telling the mother that we must resign ourselves
to the will of God. I asked the infamous creature if it were the doctor.

"The doctor is no good now," said the old hypocrite, weeping anew, "he is
a minister of the Gospel, and there is another of them upstairs. My poor
daughter! In another hour she will be no more."

I felt as if an icy hand had closed upon my heart. I burst into tears and
left the woman, saying,--

"It is true that my hand dealt the blow, but her death lies at your
door."

As I walked away my knees seemed to bend under me, and I entered my house
determined to commit suicide,--

With this fearful idea, I gave orders that I was not at home to anyone.
As soon as I got to my room I put my watches, rings, snuff-boxes, purse
and pocket-book in my casket, and shut it up in my escritoire. I then
wrote a letter to the Venetian ambassador, informing him that all my
property was to go to M. de Bragadin after my death. I sealed the letter
and put it with the casket, and took the key with me, and also silver to
the amount of a few guineas. I took my pistols and went out with the firm
intention of drowning myself in the Thames, near the Tower of London.

Pondering over my plan with the utmost coolness, I went and bought some
balls of lead as large as my pockets would hold, and as heavy as I could
bear, to carry to the Tower, where I intended to go on foot. On my way I
was strengthened in my purpose by the reflection, that if I continued to
live I should be tormented for the remainder of my days by the pale shade
of the Charpillon reproaching me as her murderer. I even congratulated
myself on being able to carry out my purpose without any effort, and I
also felt a secret pride in my courage.

I walked slowly on account of the enormous weight I bore, which would
assure me a speedy passage to the bottom of the river.

By Westminster Bridge my good fortune made me meet Sir Edgar, a rich
young Englishman, who lived a careless and joyous life. I had made his
acquaintance at Lord Pembroke's, and he had dined with me several times.
We suited one another, his conversation was agreeable, and we had passed
many pleasant hours together. I tried to avoid him, but he saw me, and
came up and took me by the arm i