mance of an act which now seemed to him
to be so terrible that he could hardly believe that he had in truth
contemplated it; but yet he knew,--he knew that it for some hours had
been the purpose of his mind to do it! He struggled to make himself
believe that it had in truth been no more than a speculation, that
there had been no formed purpose, that he had only amused himself by
considering how he could do such a deed without detection, if the
deed were to be done. He had simply been thinking over the blunders
of others, the blindness of men who had so bungled in their business
as to have left easy traces for the eyes and intelligence of the
world outside, and had been assuring himself how much better he could
manage if the necessity of such an operation were to come upon him.
That was all. No doubt he hated Lord Hampstead,--and had cause to
do so. It was thus that he argued with himself. But his hatred had
surely not carried him to the intention of murder!

There could have been no question of real murder; for why should he
have troubled himself either with the danger or with the load which
it would certainly have imposed on his conscience? Much as he hated
Lord Hampstead, it was no business of his. It was that Lady Macbeth
up-stairs, the mother of the darlings, who had really thought of
murder. It was she who had spoken openly of her great desire that
Lord Hampstead should cease to live. Had there been any real question
of murder it would have been for her to meditate, for her to think,
for her to plot;--surely not for him! Certainly, certainly he had
contemplated no such deed as that, with the object of obtaining
for the comfort of his old age the enjoyment of the living of
Appleslocombe! He told himself now that had he in truth committed
such a crime, had he carried out the plot which had formed itself in
his brain only as a matter of speculation, though he might not have
been detected, yet he would have been suspected; and suspicion would
have been as destructive to his hopes as detection. Of course all
that had been clear enough to him throughout his machinations; and
therefore how could he really have intended it? He had not intended
it. It had only been one of those castles in the air which the
old build as well as the young,--which are no more than the "airy
fabrics" of the brain!

It was thus he struggled to drive from his mind and from his eyes
the phantom of the terrible deed. But that he did not succeed w