He was silent, and appeared lost in thought.  Edward, for his part, felt overwhelmed by terrible suspicions and sad memories.  After a long pause he recovered himself:  “and where was D’Effernay?” he inquired.

“D’Effernay,” answered the Captain, rather surprised at the question; “oh! he was not in the Castle when we made the dreadful discovery:  he had gone out for an early walk, and when he came back late, not before noon, he learned the truth, and was like one out of his senses.  It seemed so awful to him, because he had been so much, the very day before, with poor Hallberg.”

“Aye,” answered Edward, whose suspicions were being more and more confirmed every moment.  “And did he see the corpse, did he go into the chamber of death?”

“No,” replied the captain; “he assured us it was out of his power to do so; he could not bear the sight; and I believe it.  People with such uncontrolled feelings as this D’Effernay, are incapable of performing those duties which others think it necessary and incumbent on them to fulfill.”

“And where was Hallberg buried?”

“Not far from the castle where the mournful event took place.  To-morrow, if we go to the iron foundry, we shall be near the spot.”

“I am glad of it,” cried Edward eagerly, while a host of projects rose up in his mind.  “But now, captain, I will not trespass any longer on your kindness.  It is late, and we must be up betimes to-morrow.  How far have we to go?”

“Not less than four leagues certainly.  D’Effernay has arranged that we shall drive there, and see it all at our leisure:  then we shall return in the evening.  Good night, Wensleben.”

They separated:  Edward hurried to his room; his heart overflowed.  Sorrow on the one hand, horror and even hatred on the other, agitated him by turns.  It was long before he could sleep.  For the third time the vision haunted him; but now it was clearer than before; now he saw plainly the features of him who lay in bed, and of him who stood beside the bed—­they were those of Hallberg and of D’Effernay.

This third apparition, the exact counterpart of the two former (only more vivid), all that he had gathered from conversations on the subject, and the contents of Emily’s letter, left scarcely the shadow of a doubt remaining as to how his friend had left the world.

D’Effernay’s jealous and passionate nature seemed to allow of the possibility of such a crime, and it could scarcely be wondered at, if Edward regarded him with a feeling akin to hatred.  Indeed the desire of visiting Hallberg’s grave, in order to place the ring in the coffin, could alone reconcile Wensleben to the idea of remaining any longer beneath the roof of a man whom he now considered the murderer of his friend.  His mind was a prey to conflicting doubts; detestation for the culprit, and grief for the victim, pointed out one line of conduct, while the difficulty of proving D’Effernay’s