strength, his money, his honor. He had paid for it with sleepless nights
and whitened hair; it was the tomb-stone of his race which he had raised
on his estate, and what he now saw before him in the uncertain light was
a monster church-yard, full of shadowy monuments, beneath which lay
coffined the peace of mind of many wretched men; and nodding, he said,
and started to hear his own words, "It is the last." He rose and went to
his house.

On his way thither he felt how comforting it was to think of that which
would free him from such hideous pictures. He went in and smiled when
the lamp shone on his face. As he stood in the hall he could hear voices
in his wife's room. Lenore was reading aloud. He listened and heard
that she was reading a novel. He would not frighten those poor women;
but there was a back room apart from all the rest--he would go there.
While he was still standing in the hall, the room door opened, and the
baroness looked out. She gave an involuntary start when she saw him. He
smiled and cheerfully entered the room, gave his hand to his wife,
stroked Lenore's head, and bent down to see what she was reading. The
baroness regretted that she had had her tea without him, and he joked
her about her impatience for her favorite beverage. He went to the cage
in which two foreign birds were sitting on the same perch, their small
heads resting against each other, and putting his fingers to the wires
as if to stroke them, he said absently, "They are gone to rest." Then
taking the waxlight from the servant's hand, he moved toward his own
room. As he took hold of the door-handle, he remarked that his wife's
eyes followed him anxiously, and, turning toward her, he nodded
cheerfully. Then he closed the door, took a polished case out of his
writing-table, and carried it and the candle to the small back room.
Here he was sure he should disturb no one.

Slowly he loaded. In loading he looked at the inlaid work on the
barrels. It had been the toilsome task of some poor devil of a
gunmaker--it had often been admired by his acquaintance. The pistols
themselves had been a wedding-present from the general, who had on one
occasion acted the part of father to his orphan bride. He hurriedly
rammed down the charge, then looked behind him. When he fell it should
not be on the floor; he would not make on those who should come in the
same painful impression that his outstretched comrade had made on him.

He placed the barrel to hi