Yes, it was murder; I
know by this constant tugging at my heart that it was murder. What
do you say to it?"
"I should think as you do, Mr. Malcolm. It is a terrible thing to
take away the life of a fellow-creature without the least
provocation."
"Ah! I know you would blame me; but he was an enemy after all;
I had a right to kill him; I was hired by the government under
whom I served to kill him; and who shall condemn me?"
"No one more than your own heart."
"It is not the heart, but the brain, that must decide in questions
of right and wrong," said he. "I acted from impulse, and shot that
man; had I reasoned upon it for five minutes, the man would be
living now. But what's done cannot be undone. Did I ever show you
the work I wrote upon South America?"
"Are you an author," said I, incredulously.
"To be sure I am. Murray offered me 100 pounds for my manuscript,
but I would not take it. Shall I read to you some passages from it?"
I am sorry to say that his behaviour in the morning was uppermost
in my thoughts, and I had no repugnance in refusing.
