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“Varney, it is astonishing to me the pains you take to assure yourself of your innocence of this deed; no one accuses you, but still, were it not that I am impressed with a strong conviction that you’re speaking to me nothing but the truth, the very fact of your extreme anxiety to acquit yourself, would engender suspicion.”

“I can understand that feeling, Charles Holland; I can fully understand it.  I do not blame you for it—­it is a most natural one; but when you know all, you will feel with me how necessary it must have been to my peace to seize upon every trivial circumstance that can help me to a belief in my own innocence.”

“It may be so; as yet, you well know, I speak in ignorance.  But what could there have been in the character of that gambler, that has made you so sympathetic concerning his decease?”

“Nothing—­nothing whatever in his character.  He was a bad man; not one of those free, open spirits which are seduced into crime by thoughtlessness—­not one of those whom we pity, perchance, more than we condemn; but a man without a redeeming trait in his disposition—­a man so heaped up with vices and iniquities, that society gained much by his decease, and not an individual could say that he had lost a friend.”

“And yet the mere thought of the circumstances connected with his death seems almost to drive you to the verge of despair.”

“You are right; the mere thought has that effect.”

“You have aroused all my curiosity to know the causes of such a feeling.”

Varney paced the apartment in silence for many minutes.  He seemed to be enduring a great mental struggle, and at length, when he turned to Charles Holland and spoke, there were upon his countenance traces of deep emotion.

“I have said, young man, that I will take you into my confidence.  I have said that I will clear up many seeming mysteries, and that I will enable you to understand what was obscure in the narrative of Dr. Chillingworth, and of that man who filled the office of public executioner, and who has haunted me so long.”

“It is true, then, as the doctor states, that you were executed in London?”

“I was.”

“And resuscitated by the galvanic process, put into operation by Dr. Chillingworth?”

“As he supposed; but there are truths connected with natural philosophy which he dreamed not of.  I bear a charmed life, and it was but accident which produced a similar effect upon the latent springs of my existence in the house to which the executioner conducted me, to what would have been produced had I been sufficed, in the free and open air, to wait until the cool moonbeams fell upon me.”

“Varney, Varney,” said Charles Holland, “you will not succeed in convincing me of your supernatural powers.  I hold such feelings and sensations at arm’s length.  I will not—­I cannot assume you to be what you affect.”