“To further this idea, I lay down beside her.  Presently she fell into a light slumber.  At first a slight expression of pleasure played upon her lips, but ere long the fatigue of her journey overcame her, and she slept heavily.

“Then,” said he, his countenance assuming a convulsive and ghastly aspect, “I arose on tiptoe, and collecting the heavy comforters and large downy pillows of the bed, I deliberately piled them on her one upon the other, and pressing them down with all my gathered force, I stifled her in her sleep!

“No cry, no groan from my victim betrayed the unhallowed deed, and before the first dawn of day I was driving furiously over the road to the river’s bank, from which into the watery depth below I threw this millstone of my life.

“When I drove back the morning had dawned.  The daylight seemed to pry into the secrets of the past night.  I would fain shun it—­the garish light disturbed me.  The morning sun, which had ever been my delight, seemed now a mocking imp of curiosity; the house and grounds looked bare and desolate; a blight had fallen upon their former comeliness.

“A strange fascination again drew me into the chamber which had been the scene of my crime.  When there I re-enacted the last night’s work.  The bed and furniture seemed to come toward me and taunt me with the fell crime I had committed.  ‘I was justified in the act,’ said I to these dumb accusers, as though they had been, living witnesses.  ’She was the bane of my existence.’  And with cunning precision I arranged the disordered room, smoothed the pillows, and levelled the coverlet.  ‘The dead cannot speak,’ said I.  ‘This thing is hidden.’

“After this performance I went forth, hoping by a sharp walk to drown the memory of the momentary deed.  I passed through the garden and reached the sloping hill.  There, where the low fence joined the open road, I was met by the lady whom I loved.  She was taking the morning air, and with her smiling face seemed drinking in its balmy freshness.

“‘You look ill,’ said she, with a pitying glance.  ’See what I have brought for you,’ and she held forth a newly-plucked bouquet of flowers.

“I took the proffered blossoms hurriedly, dreading to meet her clear eye, which I felt must surely read my guilt.  Burying the flowers in my breast, and with an effort to smile that sickened me, I bowed low to the ground and hurried on.

“When beyond her sight I drew the nosegay from its hiding place—­it was withered as if scorched by a burning heat!  Upon looking closer at this strange phenomena, I beheld, to my horror, in dim outline, the face of the murdered!  Whence came the impression?  Had my riotous heart burnt the secret upon those blushing petals?

“Frantically I tore open my shirt, when lo! upon my breast I beheld imprinted a picture of the direful deed—­seared in by rays more potent than the sun’s—­photographed there, as if by the lightning’s fierce stroke!