“We are quite alone, Dr. Danvers—­no one anywhere near?”

Dr. Danvers assured him that all was secure.  After a long and agitated pause, Marston said—­

“You remember Merton’s confession.  He admitted his intention to kill Berkley, but denied that he was the actual murderer.  He spoke truth—­no one knew it better than I; for I am the murderer.”

Dr. Danvers was so shocked and overwhelmed that he was utterly unable to speak.

“Aye, sir, in point of law and of morals, literally and honestly, the murderer of Wynston Berkley.  I am resolved you shall know it all.  Make what use of it you will—­I care for nothing now, but to get rid of the d——­d, unsustainable secret, and that is done.  I did not intend to kill the scoundrel when I went to his room; but with the just feelings of exasperation with which I regarded him, it would have been wiser had I avoided the interview; and I meant to have done so.  But his candle was burning; I saw the light through the door, and went in.  It was his evil fortune to indulge in his old strain of sardonic impertinence.  He provoked me; I struck him—­he struck me again—­and with his own dagger I stabbed him three times.  I did not know what I had done; I could not believe it.  I felt neither remorse nor sorrow—­why should I?—­but the thing was horrible, astounding.  There he sat in the corner of his cushioned chair, with the old fiendish smile on still.  Sir, I never thought that any human shape could look so dreadful.  I don’t know how long I stayed there, freezing with horror and detestation, and yet unable to take my eyes from the face.  Did you see it in the coffin?  Sir, there was a sneer of triumph on it that was diabolic and prophetic.”

Marston was fearfully agitated as he spoke, and repeatedly wiped from his face the cold sweat that gathered there.

“I could not leave the room by the back stairs,” he resumed, “for the valet slept in the intervening chamber.  I felt such an appalled antipathy to the body, that I could scarcely muster courage to pass it.  But, sir, I am not easily cowed—­I mastered this repugnance in a few minutes—­or, rather, I acted spite of it, I knew not how; but instinctively it seemed to me that it was better to lay the body in the bed, than leave it where it was, shewing, as its position might, that the thing occurred in an altercation.  So, sir, I raised it, and bore it softly across the room, and laid it in the bed; and, while I was carrying it, it swayed forward, the arms glided round my neck, and the head rested against my cheek—­that was a parody upon a brotherly embrace!