st? Is THAT fancy?

'Did she go down upon her knees, and call on Heaven to witness that she
and her unborn child renounced me from that hour; and did she, in words
so solemn that they turned me cold--me, fresh from the horrors my own
hands had made--warn me to fly while there was time; for though she
would be silent, being my wretched wife, she would not shelter me? Did I
go forth that night, abjured of God and man, and anchored deep in hell,
to wander at my cable's length about the earth, and surely be drawn down
at last?'

'Why did you return? said the blind man.

'Why is blood red? I could no more help it, than I could live without
breath. I struggled against the impulse, but I was drawn back, through
every difficult and adverse circumstance, as by a mighty engine. Nothing
could stop me. The day and hour were none of my choice. Sleeping and
waking, I had been among the old haunts for years--had visited my own
grave. Why did I come back? Because this jail was gaping for me, and he
stood beckoning at the door.'

'You were not known?' said the blind man.

'I was a man who had been twenty-two years dead. No. I was not known.'

'You should have kept your secret better.'

'MY secret? MINE? It was a secret, any breath of air could whisper at
its will. The stars had it in their twinkling, the water in its flowing,
the leaves in their rustling, the seasons in their return. It lurked
in strangers' faces, and their voices. Everything had lips on which it
always trembled.--MY secret!'

'It was revealed by your own act at any rate,' said the blind man.

'The act was not mine. I did it, but it was not mine. I was forced
at times to wander round, and round, and round that spot. If you had
chained me up when the fit was on me, I should have broken away, and
gone there. As truly as the loadstone draws iron towards it, so he,
lying at the bottom of his grave, could draw me near him when he would.
Was that fancy? Did I like to go there, or did I strive and wrestle with
the power that forced me?'

The blind man shrugged his shoulders, and smiled incredulously. The
prisoner again resumed his old attitude, and for a long time both were
mute.

'I suppose then,' said his visitor, at length breaking silence, 'that
you are penitent and resigned; that you desire to make peace with
everybody (in particular, with your wife who has brought you to this);
and that you ask no greater favour than to be carried to Tyburn as soon
as possi