of the frightened peasant.

"M. D'Effernay," he said, "your conduct for the last half-hour has been
most unaccountable--most unreasonable."

"Come, come," interposed Edward, "let us say no more on the subject; but
let us be going," he addressed the rector; "we will not detain these
gentlemen much longer."

He made a step toward the church-yard, but D'Effernay clutched his arm,
and, with an impious oath, "you shall not stir," he said; "that grave
shall not be opened."

Edward shook him off, with a look of silent hatred, for now indeed all
his doubts were confirmed.

D'Effernay saw that Wensleben was resolved, and a deadly pallor spread
itself over his features, and a shudder passed visibly over his frame.

"You are going!" he cried, with every gesture and appearance of
insanity. "Go, then;" ... and he pointed the muzzle of the pistol to his
mouth, and before any one could prevent him, he drew the trigger, and
fell back a corpse. The spectators were motionless with surprise and
horror; the captain was the first to recover himself in some degree. He
bent over the body with the faint hope of detecting some sign of life.
The old man turned pale and dizzy with a sense of terror, and he looked
as if he would have swooned, had not Edward led him gently into his
house, while the two others busied themselves with vain attempts to
restore life. The spirit of D'Effernay had gone to its last account!

It was, indeed, an awful moment. Death in its worst shape was before
them, and a terrible duty still remained to be performed.

Edward's cheek was blanched; his eye had a fixed look, yet he moved and
spoke with a species of mechanical action, which had something almost
ghastly in it. Causing the body to be removed into the house, he bade
the captain summon the servants of the deceased and then motioning with
his hand to the awe-struck sexton, he proceeded with him to the
church-yard. A few clods of earth alone were removed ere the captain
stood by his friend's side.

* * * * *

Here we must pause. Perhaps it were better altogether to emulate the
silence that was maintained then and afterward by the two comrades. But
the sexton could not be bribed to entire secrecy, and it was a story he
loved to tell, with details we gladly omit, of how Wensleben solemnly
performed his task--of how no doubt could any longer exist as to the
cause of Hallberg's death. Those who love the horrible must draw on
th