I begged, as if I had been begging for my life, that he would keep his promise, and take me on my way towards my brother. “To the devil with your brother!” and he whipped his horse on. The devil was in me, as I said. I sprang at him, my strength doubled and trebled with rage, and, catching him unawares, dragged him from the gig, and threw him violently on the ground; his head struck against one of the great stones--and--and-- Now, you see how it was. I murdered him. He must have died easily--instantaneously; he never moaned nor stirred once; but, for all that, it was murder. Not with intent, God knows. So little idea had I he was dead, that I shook him as he lay, told him to “get up and fight it out:” oh, my God!--my God! Thus I have told it, the secret, which until now has never been written or spoken to any human being. I was then nineteen--I am now nine-and-thirty; twenty years. Theodora, have pity: only think of carrying such a secret--the blood of a man, on one's conscience for twenty years! If, instead of my telling you all this, as I may do in a few days, you should have to read it here, it will by then have become an old tale. Still, pity me. To continue, for it is getting far on into the night. On the first few minutes after I discovered what I had done, you will not expect me to dilate. I was perfectly sober, now. I had tried every means in my power to revive him; and then to ascertain for certain that he was dead; I forgot to tell you I had already begun my classes in medicine, so I knew a good deal. I sat with his head on my knee, fully aware that I had killed him; that I had taken the life of a man, and that his blood would be upon me for ever and ever. Nothing, short of the great condemnation of the last judgment-day, could parallel that horror of despair; under it my reason seemed to give way. I was seized with the delusion that, bad and cruel man as he was, he was only shamming to terrify me. I held him up in my arms, so that the light of the gig-lamps fell full on his face. It was a dead face--not frightful to look at, beautiful rather, as the muscles slowly settled--but dead, quite dead. I laid him down again, still resting his head against my knee, till he gradually stiffened and grew cold. This was just at moon-rise; he had said the moon would rise at two o'clock, and so she did, and struck her first arrowy ray across the plain upon his face--that still face with its half-open mouth and eyes. I had not been afraid of him hitherto; now I was. It was no longer a man, but a corpse, and I was the murderer.