It was however, necessary that I should act in some way, possessed of the information which had so strangely come to me.  I desired to be alone to collect myself, and to determine quietly.  I retired to my bedroom, endeavoured to think composedly, and to mark out the line of duty.  It was a fruitless undertaking.  My mind would rest on nothing but the tragedy in which this miserable creature held so sad a part, and his unlooked-for resuscitation here—­here, under the roof which sheltered his sister’s paramour.  Whether to keep the secret hidden in my bosom, or to communicate it to the physician, was my duty, I could not settle now.  It had been a parting injunction of my friend Thompson to sleep upon all matters of difficulty, and to avoid rashness above all things.  Alas!  I had not profited by his counsel, nor, in my own case, recurred to it, even for a moment; but it was different now.  The fate, perhaps the life, of another was involved in my decision; and not to act upon the good advice, not to be temperate and cautious, would be sinful in the extreme.  What, had she been alive, would the sister have required—­entreated at my hands?  And now, if the freed spirit of the injured one looked down upon the world, what would it expect from him to whom had been committed the forlorn and stricken wanderer?  What if not justice, charity, and mercy?  “And he shall have it!” I exclaimed.  “I will act on his behalf.  I will be cool and calm.  I will do nothing until tomorrow, when the excitement of this hour shall have passed away, and reason resumed its proper influence and rule.”

I rose, contented with my conclusion, and walked to the window, which overlooked the pleasure-garden of the house.  Robin and his patient were there; the former sitting on a garden chair, and reposing comfortably after his meal, heedless of the doings of his charge.  The latter stood immediately below the window, gazing upwards, with the portrait as before pressed between his marble hands.  He perceived me, and screamed in triumph and delight.  The keeper started up; I vanished instantly.  He surely could not have known the situation of my room—­could not have waited there and watched for my appearance.  It was impossible.  Yes, I said so, and I attempted to console myself with the assurance; but my blood curdled with a new conviction that arose and clung to me, and would not be cast off—­the certainty that, by the utterance of one word, I had, for good or ill, linked to my future destiny the reasonless and wretched being, who stood and shrieked beneath the casement long after I was gone.

I joined my friend, the doctor, as usual in the evening, and learnt from him the news of the day.  He had visited his patient at the parsonage, and he spoke favourably of her case.  Although she had been told of my absence, she was still not aware that I had quitted the house for ever.  Her father thought she was less unquiet, and believed that in a few days all would be forgotten, and she would be herself again.