guilt, and still more, pity and consideration for Emily, determined him at length to let the matter rest, and to leave the murderer, if such he really were, to the retribution which his own conscience and the justice of God would award him.  He would seek his friend’s grave, and then he would separate from D’Effernay, and never see him more.  In the midst of these reflections the servant came to tell him that the carriage was ready.  A shudder passed over his frame as D’Effernay greeted him; but he commanded himself, and they started on their expedition.

Edward spoke but little, and that only when it was necessary, and the conversation was kept up by his two companions; he had made every inquiry, before he set out, respecting the place of his friend’s interment, the exact situation of the tomb, the name of the village, and its distance from the main road.  On their way home, he requested that D’Effernay would give orders to the coachman to make a round of a mile or two as far as the village of ——­, with whose rector he was particularly desirous to speak.  A momentary cloud gathered on D’Effernay’s brow, yet it seemed no more than his usual expression of vexation at any delay or hindrance; and he was so anxious to propitiate his rich visitor, who appeared likely to take the estate off his hands, that he complied with all possible courtesy.  The coachman was directed to turn down a by-road, and a very bad one it was.  The captain stood up in the carriage and pointed out the village to him, at some distance off; it lay in a deep ravine at the foot of the mountains.

They arrived in the course of time, and inquired for the clergyman’s house, which, as well as the church, was situated on rising ground.  The three companions alighted from the carriage, which they left at the bottom of the hill, and walked up together in the direction of the rectory.  Edward knocked at the door and was admitted, while the two others sat on a bench outside.  He had promised to return speedily, but to D’Effernay’s restless spirit, one-quarter of an hour appeared interminable.

He turned to the captain and said, in a tone of impatience, “M. de Wensleben must have a great deal of business with the rector:  we have been here an immense time, and he does not seem inclined to make his appearance.

“Oh, I dare say he will come soon.  The matter cannot detain him long.”

“What on earth can he have to do here?”

“Perhaps you would call it a mere fancy—­the enthusiasm of youth.”

“It has a name, I suppose?”

“Certainly, but—­”

“Is it sufficiently important, think you, to make us run the risk of being benighted on such roads as these?”

“Why, it is quite early in the day.”

“But we have more than two leagues to go.  Why will you not speak?—­there cannot any great mystery.”

“Well, perhaps not a mystery, exactly, but just one of those subjects on which we are usually reserved with others.”