ng that has happened that has in any degree
contributed to my cure. I am as much the fool of fame as ever. I cling
to it to my last breath. Though I be the blackest of villains, I will
leave behind me a spotless and illustrious name. There is no crime so
malignant, no scene of blood so horrible, in which that object cannot
engage me. It is no matter that I regard these things at a distance with
aversion;--I am sure of it; bring me to the test, and I shall yield. I
despise myself, but thus I am; things are gone too far to be recalled.

"Why is it that I am compelled to this confidence? From the love of
fame. I should tremble at the sight of every pistol or instrument of
death that offered itself to my hands; and perhaps my next murder may
not be so fortunate as those I have already committed. I had no
alternative but to make you my confidant or my victim. It was better to
trust you with the whole truth under every seal of secrecy, than to live
in perpetual fear of your penetration or your rashness.

"Do you know what it is you have done? To gratify a foolishly
inquisitive humour, you have sold yourself. You shall continue in my
service, but can never share my affection. I will benefit you in respect
of fortune, but I shall always hate you. If ever an unguarded word
escape from your lips, if ever you excite my jealousy or suspicion,
expect to pay for it by your death or worse. It is a dear bargain you
have made. But it is too late to look back. I charge and adjure you by
every thing that is sacred, and that is tremendous, preserve your faith!

"My tongue has now for the first time for several years spoken the
language of my heart; and the intercourse from this hour shall be shut
for ever. I want no pity. I desire no consolation. Surrounded as I am
with horrors, I will at least preserve my fortitude to the last. If I
had been reserved to a different destiny, I have qualities in that
respect worthy of a better cause. I can be mad, miserable, and frantic;
but even in frenzy I can preserve my presence of mind and discretion."

Such was the story I had been so desirous to know. Though my mind had
brooded upon the subject for months, there was not a syllable of it that
did not come to my ear with the most perfect sense of novelty. "Mr.
Falkland is a murderer!" said I, as I retired from the conference. This
dreadful appellative, "a murderer," made my very blood run cold within
me. "He killed Mr. Tyrrel, for he could not contro