The manly and athletic form, which one minute before excited my most malignant hatred, when now prostrate and speechless, became an object of frantic affection.  I ran to Talbot, and when it was too late perceived the mischief I had done.  Murder, cruelty, injustice, and, above all, the most detestable ingratitude, flashed at once into my overcrowded imagination.  I turned the body round, and tried to discover if there were any signs of life.  A small stream of blood ran from his side, and, about two feet from him, was lost in the absorbing sand; while from the violence of his fall the sand had filled his mouth and nostrils.  I cleaned them out; and, staunching the wound with my handkerchief, for the blood flowed copiously at every respiration, I sat on the sea-shore by his side, supporting him in my arms.  I only exclaimed, “Would to God the shark, the poison, the sword of the enemy, or the precipice of Trinidad had destroyed me before this fatal hour.”

Talbot opened his languid eyes, and fixed them on me with a glassy stare; but he did not speak.  Suddenly, recollection seemed for a moment to return—­he recognised me, and, O God, his look of kindness pierced my heart.  He made several efforts to speak, and at last said, in broken accents, and at long and painful intervals,

“Look at letter—­writing-desk—­read all—­explain—­God bless—­” His head fell back, and he was dead.

Oh, how I envied him!  Had he been ten thousand times more guilty than I had ever supposed him, it would have given no comfort to my mind.  I had murdered him, and too late I acknowledged his innocence.  I know not why, and can scarcely tell how I did it, but I took off my neckcloth, and bound it tightly round his waist, over the wound.  The blood ceased to flow.  I left the body, and returned to our lodging, in a state of mental prostration and misery, proportioned to the heat and excitement with which I had quitted it.

My first object was to read the letters which my poor friend had referred to.  On my arrival, both our servants were up.  My hands and clothes were dyed with blood, and they looked at me with astonishment.  I ran hastily upstairs, to avoid them, and took the writing-desk, the key of which I knew hung to his watch-chain.  Seizing the poker, I split it open, and took out the packet he mentioned.  At this moment his servant entered the room.

“Et mon maitre, Monsieur, ou est-il?”

“I have murdered him,” said I, “and you will find him in the sands, near the signal-post; and,” continued I, “I am now robbing him!”

My appearance and actions seemed to prove the truth of my assertion.  The man flew out of the room; but I was regardless of everything, and even wonder why I should have given my attention to the letters at all, especially as I had now convinced myself of Talbot’s innocence.  The packet, however, I did read; and it consisted of a series of letters between Talbot and his father, who had engaged him to a young lady of rank and fortune, without consulting him—­une mariage de convenance—­which Talbot had resisted in consequence of his attachment to Clara.