My heart beat. I listened. Surely, Mr.
Garston's door is being opened with a care and
caution that means more than an anxiety lest
the repose of the inmates of the house
should be disturbed. Certainly there is the
tiptoe tread of shoeless feet along the passage,
With a like care and caution I opened my
own door. Garston's was closed. No. I
could not be mistaken. The desire to
follow him was strong within me, though
I never asked myself why it should be so.
Indeed, I gave myself no time for balancing
reasons ; but hastened along the passage.
Leaning over the balustrade of the gallery,
I saw Garston below, in the hall, in the
act of placing his shoes on the pavement.
He put them on, and proceeded to the door ;
which he unlocked and unbolted so
noiselessly that it seemed to open of itself.
He stood irresolutely for some minutes,
and then gently drew the door after him,
leaving it ajar. By this time I had descended
to the lowest flight ; and, on his disappearance,
I hastened into the hall, crossed it,
drew back the door, and looked abroad on
either side. He had emerged from the deep
shadow of the house, and was making his
way towards the stables. Here he was lost
to me for some minutes ; but, as there was
no egress in that direction, I awaited his
reappearance with a rapt anticipation that
forbade impatience. At length he
reappeared. As he came more into the light,
I saw that he was carrying something
in his hand. It was a spade. He
proceeded to a gate, got over it, and entered
a high-hedged lane some two miles in
length.

What was the meaning of this ? Where
was Garston going?—what was he about to
do?

I was drawn on after him to the gate by
insatiable curiosity. I mounted it, but with
no intention of following in Garston's wake,
From its topmost bar I climbed up a bank,
and crept through a gap into an elevated
field. A narrow path skirted the lofty hedge;
and, through this, I could at intervals discern
the lonely man, sometimes halting, sometimes
hastening, I knew not whither ;
the spade grasped with both hands and
pressed closely against his bosom. Twice he
turned about suddenly, and made a motion
as though he would return ; but no—it
must not be : his ungrateful errand must
be accomplished : he must go onward. His
action said this plainly.

He was now about to enter the vale. It
is narrow and of some length; the hills
on either side being clothed to the very top
with soft and undulating verdure. At one
extremity stands a mansion (untenanted at
that time), at the other is the high road. For
a minute or two I kept Garston in my eye
from the ascent on which I stood; but it was
needful, if I would witness the issue of this
strange excursion, that I should make my way
through the wood, down to its edge. I had
effected this, when I saw Garston ascending
directly towards me. Alarmed, I retraced my
steps with all speed, and all silence. It was
some minutes before I durst venture to descend
to my former position; and when I did,
Garston had struck into the wood, and was
lost to me. What was now to be done?
Curiosity unslaked just when it is about to
be satisfied, is accompanied by a feeling of
disappointment and chagrin, to which youth
especially cannot very readily submit.
Reluctant to depart, I yet began to be fearful of
remaining. I must have been vibrating in
this state of hesitation a full quarter of an
hour (I found by what followed that it
was so), when a sound of parting branches
fell on my ear from a distance. I approached.
Twigs and fallen leaves crashed and rustled
under rapid human footsteps, and what
seemed to be a white figure, shot past me—
so near that I might have almost touched
it—and rushed into the level swarded space
before it, where it stood motionless: its
shadow marking the ground blackly.

It was Garston. He no longer carried
the spade, and had divested himself of his
coat and waistcoat. He dropped down upon
his knees, his expanded hands raised towards
Heaven, to which with quivering lips he
offered an agonised prayer; for I heard the
word, Mercy, many times repeated.

At length he rose, passing his hands over
his limbs smartly but lightly, as though
thereby he swept off what hung loosely about
his person. He then stamped, as if to
extinguish it; and, turning away, ascended
to the wood, and entered it nearly at the
point from which he had issued; murmuring
as he passed the tree behind which I stood,
" Sad—sad—a lifetime of unutterable misery
earned in one short mad moment!"

Whilst the foregoing scene was enacting, I
neither stirred hand nor foot, held to the
spot by terror and amazement. But now
I prepared to follow Garston still more
closely.

I held him in view till he had attained the
top of the hill, when it behoved me so to
dispose myself that he should not see me.
This was easily done. Nature had not
been left entirely to her own will at this
spot. A circular space had been planted
with shrubs, which had grown to a
considerable height. There was an opening
at which a door had probably at one time
been placed. In the centre were the ruins of
an old summer-house. After some delay,
Garston entered at the opening. I watched
him through the foliage, now thinned by
the autumn. The spade was standing in the
ground a few paces from the decaying entrance
to the once gaily-painted pavilion. He took
the spade in his hand and began to dig.

Now I knew that he was making a grave,
and that the body which was to occupy it
was not far away. I turned very faint