secret," returned Mr.
Neal. "You are a murderer on your own confession. If that letter is to
be finished, don't ask _me_ to hold the pen for you."

"You gave me your promise," was the reply, spoken with the same
immovable self-possession. "You must write for me, or break your word."

For the moment, Mr. Neal was silenced. There the man lay--sheltered
from the execration of his fellow-creatures, under the shadow of
Death--beyond the reach of all human condemnation, beyond the dread of
all mortal laws; sensitive to nothing but his one last resolution to
finish the letter addressed to his son.

Mr. Neal drew the doctor aside. "A word with you," he said, in German.
"Do you persist in asserting that he may be speechless before we can
send to Stuttgart?"

"Look at his lips," said the doctor, "and judge for yourself."

His lips answered for him: the reading of the narrative had left its
mark on them already. A distortion at the corners of his mouth, which
had been barely noticeable when Mr. Neal entered the room, was plainly
visible now. His slow articulation labored more and more painfully with
every word he uttered. The position was emphatically a terrible one.
After a moment more of hesitation, Mr. Neal made a last attempt to
withdraw from it.

"Now my eyes are open," he said, sternly, "do you dare hold me to an
engagement which you forced on me blindfold?"

"No," answered Mr. Armadale. "I leave you to break your word."

The look which accompanied that reply stung the Scotchman's pride to the
quick. When he spoke next, he spoke seated in his former place at the
table.

"No man ever yet said of me that I broke my word," he retorted, angrily;
"and not even you shall say it of me now. Mind this! If you hold me to
my promise, I hold you to my condition. I have reserved my freedom of
action, and I warn you I will use it at my own sole discretion, as soon
as I am released from the sight of you."

"Remember he is dying," pleaded the doctor, gently.

"Take your place, sir," said Mr. Neal, pointing to the empty chair.
"What remains to be read, I will only read in your hearing. What remains
to be written, I will only write in your presence. _You_ brought me
here. I have a right to insist--and I do insist--on your remaining as a
witness to the last."

The doctor accepted his position without remonstrance. Mr. Neal returned
to the manuscript, and read what remained of it uninterruptedly to the
end:

"Without a word i