from which the pleasurable feeling grew, by scarcely perceptible gradations, into a haunting and harassing thought.  It harassed because it haunted.  I could scarcely get rid of it for an instant.  It is quite a common thing to be thus annoyed with the ringing in our ears, or rather in our memories, of the burthen of some ordinary song, or some unimpressive snatches from an opera.  Nor will we be the less tormented if the song in itself be good, or the opera air meritorious.  In this manner, at last, I would perpetually catch myself pondering upon my security, and repeating, in a low undertone, the phrase, “I am safe.”

One day, whilst sauntering along the streets, I arrested myself in the act of murmuring, half aloud, these customary syllables.  In a fit of petulance, I remodelled them thus; “I am safe —­ I am safe —­ yes —­ if I be not fool enough to make open confession!”

No sooner had I spoken these words, than I felt an icy chill creep to my heart.  I had had some experience in these fits of perversity, (whose nature I have been at some trouble to explain), and I remembered well that in no instance I had successfully resisted their attacks.  And now my own casual self-suggestion that I might possibly be fool enough to confess the murder of which I had been guilty, confronted me, as if the very ghost of him whom I had murdered —­ and beckoned me on to death.

At first, I made an effort to shake off this nightmare of the soul.  I walked vigorously —­ faster —­ still faster —­ at length I ran.  I felt a maddening desire to shriek aloud.  Every succeeding wave of thought overwhelmed me with new terror, for, alas!  I well, too well understood that to think, in my situation, was to be lost.  I still quickened my pace.  I bounded like a madman through the crowded thoroughfares.  At length, the populace took the alarm, and pursued me.  I felt then the consummation of my fate.  Could I have torn out my tongue, I would have done it, but a rough voice resounded in my ears —­ a rougher grasp seized me by the shoulder.  I turned —­ I gasped for breath.  For a moment I experienced all the pangs of suffocation; I became blind, and deaf, and giddy; and then some invisible fiend, I thought, struck me with his broad palm upon the back.  The long imprisoned secret burst forth from my soul.

They say that I spoke with a distinct enunciation, but with marked emphasis and passionate hurry, as if in dread of interruption before concluding the brief, but pregnant sentences that consigned me to the hangman and to hell.

Having related all that was necessary for the fullest judicial conviction, I fell prostrate in a swoon.

But why shall I say more?  To-day I wear these chains, and am here!  To-morrow I shall be fetterless! —­ but where?

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THE ISLAND OF THE FAY

Nullus enim locus sine genio est. —­ Servius.