"Are you deceiving me, my son?" he asked, gravely. "No, indeed, Father," I answered; "I am telling you the simple truth; but for reasons of my own, you must let me do so without comment, and draw your own deductions from what you yourself know." "Well, then," he said, after musing a moment, "you say that you were turning back to ask him where his carbine was placed when you saw the accident that occurred. Tell me now, my son, did your never-failing memory and attention abandon you in the present instance; or had you not forgotten, in reality, where he had told you that the weapon was to be found?" "I had not forgotten," I replied, "and only turned back with that excuse, because I did not wish to leave him just at that moment." "Then you must have apprehended something," said the Priest; "tell me what it was, and why you did so. You may do so safely, my son; for I pledge my word that your reply never passes my lips." Thus pressed home, I replied, "Certainly I did apprehend something, good Father; but my apprehensions were quite vague and unformed, pointing to no particular object, and having no very definite cause." "Then why did you entertain fears at all," demanded Father Ferdinand, "if you had seen nothing to excite them?" "I had seen much to excite fears of every kind," I answered; "the whole demeanour of Monsieur de Villardin, his altered habits, his look, the fierceness of his manner, the wildness of his eye, all made me fear that he was hardly sane, and that surely was excuse sufficient for general apprehensions." "It was," said the Priest, "it was; and your conduct was so just and proper in writing to me at first, that I will not believe you conceal anything from me now." "Father Ferdinand, I will tell you the truth," I rejoined, as he was about to proceed; "I conceal from you no fact of any kind; but I do retain in my own bosom all those deductions which I have made from the same events that I have detailed to you." "It matters little," he said, "it matters little! The truth of all I shall soon know from this unhappy man, if ever he recover the use of his reason, and in the meantime I will draw my own conclusions." "Has he been roused from the stupor into which he had fallen?" I asked.