But now listen to something else, which concerns neither of these papers.  Promise me, in the first place, solemnly, that whenever I die you will see me buried in the same grave as my wife, from whose funeral we are just returned.  Promise.”—­I promised.—­ “Swear.”—­I swore.—­“Finally, promise me that, when you read this second paper which I have put into your hands, whatsoever you may think of it, you will say nothing—­publish nothing to the world until three years shall have passed.”—­I promised.—­“And now farewell for three hours.  Come to me again about ten o’clock, and take a glass of wine in memory of old times.”  This he said laughingly; but even then a dark spasm crossed his face.  Yet, thinking that this might be the mere working of mental anguish within him, I complied with his desire, and retired.  Feeling, however, but little at ease, I devised an excuse for looking in upon him about one hour and a half after I had left him.  I knocked gently at his door; there was no answer.  I knocked louder; still no answer.  I went in.  The light of day was gone, and I could see nothing.  But I was alarmed by the utter stillness of the room.  I listened earnestly, but not a breath could be heard.  I rushed back hastily into the hall for a lamp; I returned; I looked in upon this marvel of manly beauty, and the first glance informed me that he and all his splendid endowments had departed forever.  He had died, probably, soon after I left him, and had dismissed me from some growing instinct which informed him that his last agonies were at hand.

I took up his two testamentary documents; both were addressed in the shape of letters to myself.  The first was a rapid though distinct appropriation of his enormous property.  General rules were laid down, upon which the property was to be distributed, but the details were left to my discretion, and to the guidance of circumstances as they should happen to emerge from the various inquiries which it would become necessary to set on foot.  This first document I soon laid aside, both because I found that its provisions were dependent for their meaning upon the second, and because to this second document I looked with confidence for a solution of many mysteries;—­of the profound sadness which had, from the first of my acquaintance with him, possessed a man so gorgeously endowed as the favorite of nature and fortune; of his motives for huddling up, in a clandestine manner, that connection which formed the glory of his life; and possibly (but then I hesitated) of the late unintelligible murders, which still lay under as profound a cloud as ever.  Much of this would be unveiled—­ all might be:  and there and then, with the corpse lying beside me of the gifted and mysterious writer, I seated myself, and read the following statement: 

“March 26, 1817.

“My trial is finished; my conscience, my duty, my honor, are liberated; my ‘warfare is accomplished.’  Margaret, my innocent young wife, I have seen for the last time.  Her, the crown that might have been of my earthly felicity—­her, the one temptation to put aside the bitter cup which awaited me—­her, sole seductress (O innocent seductress!) from the stern duties which my fate had imposed upon me—­her, even her, I have sacrificed.