ut in vain. I know not
whether it is an illusion of the mind, the consequence of my dismal
education at the convent, or whether a phantom really sent by heaven to
punish me; but there it ever is--at all times--in all places--nor has
time nor habit had any effect in familiarizing me with its terrors. I
have travelled from place to place, plunged into amusements--tried
dissipation and distraction of every kind--all--all in vain.

I once had recourse to my pencil as a desperate experiment. I painted
an exact resemblance of this phantom face. I placed it before me in
hopes that by constantly contemplating the copy I might diminish the
effect of the original. But I only doubled instead of diminishing the
misery.

Such is the curse that has clung to my footsteps--that has made my life
a burthen--but the thoughts of death, terrible. God knows what I have
suffered. What days and days, and nights and nights, of sleepless
torment. What a never-dying worm has preyed upon my heart; what an
unquenchable fire has burned within my brain. He knows the wrongs that
wrought upon my poor weak nature; that converted the tenderest of
affections into the deadliest of fury. He knows best whether a frail
erring creature has expiated by long-enduring torture and measureless
remorse, the crime of a moment of madness. Often, often have I
prostrated myself in the dust, and implored that he would give me a
sign of his forgiveness, and let me die.--

Thus far had I written some time since. I had meant to leave this
record of misery and crime with you, to be read when I should be no
more. My prayer to heaven has at length been heard. You were witness to
my emotions last evening at the performance of the Miserere; when the
vaulted temple resounded with the words of atonement and redemption. I
heard a voice speaking to me from the midst of the music; I heard it
rising above the pealing of the organ and the voices of the choir; it
spoke to me in tones of celestial melody; it promised mercy and
forgiveness, but demanded from me full expiation. I go to make it.
To-morrow I shall be on my way to Genoa to surrender myself to justice.
You who have pitied my sufferings; who have poured the balm of sympathy
into my wounds, do not shrink from my memory with abhorrence now that
you know my story. Recollect, when you read of my crime I shall have
atoned for it with my blood!

When the Baronet had finished, there was an universal desire expressed
to see the pa