before. He came back to that unaccountable fear of the
future as surely as a body thrown upwards falls again to the earth. He
went over it all in his mind again, twice, three times, twenty times. As
often as he reached the stage at which he imagined Paolo dead, hidden,
and buried in a cellar, the same shiver passed through him as he glanced
involuntarily behind him. Why? What power could a dead body possibly
exercise over a living man in the full possession of his senses?

Here was something which Marzio could not understand, but of which he
was made aware by his own feelings. The difficulty only increased in
magnitude as he faced it, considered it, and tried to view it from all
its horrible aspects. But he could not overcome it. He might laugh at
the existence of the soul and jest about the future state after death;
he could not escape from the future in this life if he did the deed he
contemplated. He should see the dead man's face by day and night as long
as he lived.

This forced conclusion was in logical accordance with his original
nature and developed character, for it was the result of that
economical, cautious disposition which foresees the consequences of
action and guides itself accordingly. Even in the moment when he had
nearly killed Paolo that morning he had not been free from this
tendency. In the instant when he had raised the tool to strike he had
thought of the means of disposing of the body and of hindering
suspicion. The panorama of coming circumstances had presented itself to
his mind with the rapidity of a flash of lightning, but in that
infinitesimal duration of time Paolo had turned round, and the
opportunity was gone. His mind had worked quickly, but it had not gone
to the end of its reasoning. Now in the solitude of his studio he had
found leisure to follow out the results to the last link of the chain.
He saw clearly that even if he eluded discovery after the crime, he
could never escape from the horror of his dead brother's presence.

He laid the silver figure of the Christ straight before him upon the
leathern pad, and looked intently at it, while his hands played idly
with the tools upon the table. His deep-set, heavy eyes gazed fixedly at
the wonderful face, with an expression which had not yet been there.
There was no longer any smile upon his thin lips, and his dark emaciated
features were restful and quiet, almost solemn in their repose.

"I am glad I did not do it," he said aloud af