near, perceived, it was the body of the drowned fisherman.

"Fate," he murmured between his teeth, "has driven me here. It was
meet that the murderer should be confronted by his victim."

The men, when they had surmounted the steep river bank, tired with the
weight, put down the corpse near where Armstrong stood. He walked up
to it, and gazed upon the face. The men, solemnized by the mournful
task, and respecting the feelings of Armstrong, whom they all knew,
preserved silence.

There was no expression of pain upon the features. They wore the calm,
impassive look of marble. The eyes and mouth were wide open--efforts
to close them had been in vain--but, there was no speculation in the
former, and the soul played no more around the latter. The long brown
hair, from which the water dripped, hung in disorder over the forehead
and down the neck. Armstrong knelt on the withered leaves, by the side
of the corpse, and parted the hair with his fingers.

"The agony," he said, as if addressing the drowned man, "is over. The
curtain is lifted. The terrible secret is disclosed. You have heard
the summons we must all hear. You have trod the path we must all
tread. You know your doom. Poor fellow! how gladly would I give my
life for yours."

The bystanders were moved. Thus to behold the rich and prosperous
Mr. Armstrong, whose reserve was mistaken by some for haughtiness,
kneeling on the ground and lamenting over the obscure fisherman, was
something they had not expected.