pitying--not the dead man, but me; and me--not for my dead brother, but
for his murderer. When I got into the passage, the mist that had still
been dark before my eyes suddenly became darker, and I remember no more.

When my senses returned, Harriet had come home. From the first she would
never hear George's name except to accuse him with frantic bitterness of
poor Edmund's death; and as nothing would induce me to credit his guilt,
the subject was as much as possible avoided. I cannot dwell on those
terrible days. I was very ill for some time, and after I had come
down-stairs, one day I found a newspaper containing the following
paragraph, which I copy here, as it is the shortest and least painful
way of telling you the facts of poor Edmund's death.

"THE MURDER AT CROSSDALE HALL.

"Universal horror has been excited in the neighbourhood by the murder of
Edmund Lascelles, Esq., of Crossdale Hall. Mr. Lascelles was last seen
alive a little after ten o'clock on Friday night, at which time he left
the house alone, and was not seen again living. At the inquest on
Saturday, James Crosby, a farm labourer, gave the following evidence:--

"'I had been sent into the village for some medicine for a sick beast,
and was returning to the farm by the park a little before eleven, when
near the low gate I saw a man standing with his back to me. The moon was
shining, and I recognized him at once for Mr. George Manners, of
Beckfield. When Mr. Manners saw me he seemed much excited, and called
out, "Quick! help! Mr. Lascelles has been murdered." I said, "Good
God! who did it?" He said, "I don't know; I found him in the
ditch; help me to carry him in." By this time I had come up and saw Mr.
Lascelles on the ground, lying on his side. I said, "How do you know