that hard-hearted man; if he refuses to grant my request, I will
die at his feet. Last night I attempted suicide, but my good angel
prevailed. To-night is my hour, and the power of darkness. Will he
feel no touch of remorse when he beholds his neglected
son--lost--bleeding--dying at his feet?

"Oh, that you were near to save me from myself! An unseen power
seems hurrying, drawing me to perdition. The voice of a friend
would dissolve the spell, and set the prisoner of passion free. The
clock strikes eight--I must go. Farewell, my friend, my brother;
forgive and pity the unfortunate

"Anthony M. Hurdlestone."

He went--and the old man was found murdered. What more natural than such
a consequence after penning such a letter? The spectators looked from
one to the other: on every brow rested a cloud; every head was nodded in
token of agreement; every one present, but Frederic Wildegrave, believed
him guilty. He had retained no counsel, preferring to plead in his own
defence.

He rose; every eye was fixed upon him, men held their breath, wondering
what sort of defence could issue from the lips of the parricide.

He spoke; the clear, rich, mellow, unimpassioned tones of his voice
rolled over that mass of human heads, penetrating every heart, and
reaching every ear.

"My lord, and you gentlemen of the jury, I rise not with the idea of
saving my life, by an avowal of my innocence, for the evidence which has
been given against me is of too conclusive a nature for me to hope for
that; I merely state the simple fact, that I am not guilty of the
dreadful crime laid to my charge; and I leave it to God, in whose hands
are the issues of life and death, to prove the truth of my words.

"The greater part of the evidence brought against me is true; the
circumstances recorded against me really occurred; the letter just read
was penned by my own hand; yet, in the face of these overwhelming
facts, I declare myself innocent of the crime laid to my charge. I know
not in what manner my father met his death. I am as ignorant as you can
be of the hand that dealt the fatal blow. I confess that I sought his
presence with the dreadful determination of committing murder; but the
crime was against myself. For this I deserve punishment--for this I am
content to die: to this charge, made by myself, I plead guilty. I look
around me--in every face I see dou