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was at a little distance before him; and when by the side of a large tree, he levelled the fatal weapon, and drawing the trigger, the best of men fell weltering in his blood. No sooner did he behold the dreadful effects of his crime, than he sunk, overpowered by the violence of his feelings. The shock, however, was temporary, and he recovered himself sufficiently to escape before any person appeared in sight: after having rested himself a little while, he called a coach, and in a short time was with Milwood.—From the moment of his departure on the dreadful errand, Milwood had been in a continual state of trepidation, both of body and mind. The agitated manner—and frenzied appearance of her victim, at his outset, had raised terrible apprehensions in her bosom, lest by incautiousness and alarm, he might lead to suspicion; and she had no doubt, that if interrogated closely as to the cause of the murder, he would confess the whole of the circumstances, and probably implicate her as being an accomplice in the murder. Such reflections were ill calculated to make her easy; added to which, the long absence of the youth increased her fears; he had departed at eight o'clock, and she fully expected him back by twelve: it was now past four, and the day began to wane; but, when Barnwell opened the door, and with the air and wildness of insanity fell senseless into a chair, she hastily
