fided to you the history of my disasters: I am not fearful of the use that you may be disposed to make of it; I shall quickly set myself beyond the reach of human tribunals—I shall relieve the ministers of law from the trouble of punishing. The recent events which induced you to summon me to this conference, have likewise determined me to make this disclosure.
"I was not aware for some time of my perturbed sleep. No wonder that sleep cannot soothe miseries like mine—that I am alike infested by memory in wakefulness and slumber. Yet I was anew distressed at the discovery that my thoughts found their way to my lips without my being conscious of it, and that my steps wandered forth unknowingly, and without the guidance of my will.
"The story you have told is not incredible; the disaster to which you allude did not fail to excite my regret: I can still weep over the untimely fall of youth and worth. I can no otherwise account for my frequenting this shade, than by the distant resemblance which the death of this man bore to that of which I was the perpetrator. This resemblance occurred to me at first: if time were able to weaken the impression which was produced by my crime, this similitude was adapted to revive and enforce it.
"The wilderness, and the cave to which you followed me, were familiar to my Sunday rambles. Often have I indulged in audible griefs on the cliffs of that valley; often have I brooded over my sorrows in the recesses of that cavern. This scene is adapted to my temper: its mountainous asperities supply me with images of desolation and seclusion, and its headlong streams lull me into temporary forgetfulness of mankind.
"I comprehend you: you suspect me of concern in the death of Waldegrave. You could not do otherwise: the conduct that you have witnessed was that of a murderer. I will not upbraid you for your suspicions, though I have bought exemption from them at a high price."
