"No, no; vacancy it may be to you, but to me 'tis full of horrible
shapes." "Compose yourself; you have taken me far into your confidence already; I
pray you now to tell me all. I have in my brain no room for horrible
conjectures such as those which might else torment me." Varney was silent for a few minutes, and then he wiped from his brow the
heavy drops of perspiration that had there gathered, and heaved a deep
sigh. "Speak to me," added Charles; "nothing will so much relieve you from the
terrors of this remembrance as making a confidence which reflection will
approve of, and which you will know that you have no reason to repent." "Charles Holland," said Varney, "I have already gone too far to
retract--much too far, I know, and can well understand all the danger of
half confidence. You already know so much, that it is fit you should
know more." "Go on then, Varney, I will listen to you." "I know not if, at this juncture, I can command myself to say more. I
feel that what next has to be told will be most horrible for me to
tell--most sad for you to hear told." "I can well believe, Varney, from your manner of speech, and from the
words you use, that you have some secret to relate beyond this simple
fact of the murder of this gamester by Marmaduke Bannerworth." "You are right--such is the fact; the death of that man could not have
moved me as you now see me moved. There is a secret connected with his
fate which I may well hesitate to utter--a secret even to whisper to the
winds of heaven--I--although I did not do the deed, no, no--I--I did not
strike the blow--not I--not I!" [Illustration]

"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." "I ask for no man's belief. I know that which I know, and, gathering
experience from the coincidences of different phenomena, I am compelled
to arrive at certain conclusions. Believe what you please, doubt what
you please; but I say again that I am not as other men." "I am in no condition to depute your proposition; I wish not to dispute
it; but you are wandering, Varney, from the point. I wait anxiously for
a continuation of your narrative." "I know that I am wandering from it--I know well that I am wandering
from it, and that the reason I do so is that I dread that continuation." "That dread will nor be the less for its postponement." "You are right; but tell me, Charles Holland, although you are young you
have been about in the great world sufficiently to form correct
opinions, and to understand that which is related to you, drawing proper
deductions from certain facts, and arriving possibly at more correct
conclusions than some of maturer years with less wisdom." "I will freely answer, Varney, any question you may put to me." "I know it; tell me then what measure of guilt you attach to me in the
transaction I have noticed to you." "It seems then to me that, not contemplating the man's murder, you
cannot be accused of the act, although a set of fortuitous circumstances
made you appear an accomplice to its commission." "You think I may be acquitted?" "You can acquit yourself, knowing that you did not contemplate the
murder." "I did not contemplate it. I know not what desperate deed I should have
stopped short at then, in the height of my distress, but I neither
contemplated taking that man's life, nor did I strike the blow which
sent him from existence." "There is even some excuse as regards the higher crime for Marmaduke
Bannerworth." "Think you so?" "Yes; he thought that you were killed, and impulsively he might have
struck the blow that made him a murderer." "Be it so. I am willing, extremely willing that anything should occur
that should remove the odium of guilt from any man. Be it so, I say,
with all my heart; but now, Charles Holland, I feel that we must meet
again ere I can tell you all; but in the meantime let Flora Bannerworth
rest in peace--she need dread nothing from me. Avarice and revenge, the
two passions which found a home in my heart, are now stifled for ever." "Revenge! did you say revenge?" "I did; whence the marvel, am I not sufficiently human for that?" "But you coupled it with the name of Flora Bannerworth." "I did, and that is part of my mystery."