"At last, after long years of waiting, I found what I had sought. Imagination could not picture a form more lovely than that of Daphne Leslie, and I resolved to make her the handmaid of art. But there was an obstacle in the way. That obstacle was Captain Willard. No matter. He must die; art demanded it, and I took an oath that the eve of his wedding should be the last day of his life. But how was I to set about it? I knew what suspicions would arise--what a hue and cry would be raised by society--if a distinguished officer, who had come all the way from India to wed a rich and lovely bride, should vanish mysteriously on the very eve of his intended marriage. All the machinery of the law would be set in motion to discover the author of the deed. Suspicion would be sure to fall on the artist who was known to entertain feelings of love towards the bride. 'It was Vasari that did it,' men would say, 'and jealousy was the cause.' I must act with caution. Ah! I would forge a letter in Captain Willard's handwriting--easy task this for an artist!--purporting that he had fled of his own accord to the Continent. Ho! ho! it was bravely done--bravely. No one ever dreamt that he was dead, and that Angelo had killed him." He put on an air of savage pride which plainly implied, "Now what do you think of that?" Like a trembling child flinging a cherished eatable to a dog of which he is afraid, I flung the maniac a propitiatory falsehood, despising myself for it the minute afterwards: "I always thought you were a clever fellow." He accepted this tribute of admiration with the air of one who quite deserved it, and continued: "Yes; I would so arrange the affair that none should ever discover what had really happened. I would kill him and travel in his dress to Dover, making it appear as if Captain Willard had really departed for the Continent. I was not unlike him in build and features, and by painting and disguising my face I could transform myself into his very image. I tried the experiment beforehand. The mirror showed me what an actor the stage has lost. Even you were deceived when landing from the steam-packet last Christmas morning. It was I whom you saw on the pier amid the falling snow." My amazement at this point was so great that it made me forget the perilous situation I was in. Spellbound at the revelation, I stood like a spectator gazing at some actor who enthralls him.