in a flutter, to bed--but
I could not sleep. I was stunned;--a fearful consternation was upon
me;--a hurry was in my brain--my mind was fire. I could not believe
that I had killed Bradley. I thought it was the nightmare which had so
poisoned my sleep. My tongue became as parched as charcoal: had I been
choking with ashes, my throat could not have been filled with more
horrible thirst. I breathed as if I were suffocating with the dry dust
into which the dead are changed.

After a time, that fit of burning agony went off;--tears came into my
eyes;--my nature was softened. I thought of Bradley when we were boys,
and of the summer days we had spent together. I never owed him a
grudge--his blow was occasioned by the liquor--a freer heart than his,
mercy never opened; and I wept like a maiden.

The day at last began to dawn. I had thrown myself on the bed without
undressing, and I started up involuntarily, and moved hastily--I should
rather say instinctively--towards the door. My father heard the stir,
and inquired wherefore I was departing so early. I begged him not
to be disturbed; my voice was troubled, and he spoke to me kindly and
encouragingly, exhorting me to eschew riotous companions. I could make
no reply--indeed I heard no more--there was a blank between his blessing
and the time when I found myself crossing the common, near the place
of execution.

But through all that horror and frenzy, I felt not that I had committed
a crime--the deed was the doing of a flash. I was conscious I could
never in cold blood have harmed a hair of Bradley's head. I considered
myself unfortunate, but not guilty; and this fond persuasion so pacified
my alarms, that, by the time I reached Portsmouth, I almost thought
as lightly of what I had done, as of the fate of the gallant French
dragoon, whom I sabred at Salamanca. But ever and anon, during the
course of our long voyage to India, sadder afterthoughts often came upon
me. In those trances, I saw, as it were, our pleasant village green,
all sparkling again with schoolboys at their pastimes; then I fancied
them gathering into groups, and telling the story of the murder; again,
moving away in silence towards the churchyard, to look at the grave of
poor Bradley. Still, however, I was loth to believe myself a criminal;
and so, from day to day, the time passed on, without any outward change
revealing what was; passing within, to the observance or suspicions
of my comrades. When the regim