is upon me; the mark of Cain is on my forehead; I am driven from the fellowship of men.
VIOLET.
Say not so; for you have by the accidental death of your servant been, as it were, providentially saved from a fearful end; and being so saved, I must needs believe that some better fortune is in reserve for you.
MURREY.
Ay, poor Donald! I believe he would willingly have died for my sake, and Providence did so dispose of him. I little thought, after my escape from prison, when I had changed apparel with him, how completely our identity was to be confounded. He lies in the grave as James Murrey of Torwood,—in an unhallowed grave, as a murderer.
VIOLET.
Were you near him when he fell into the pit?
MURREY.
Dear Violet, thou art bewildered to ask me such a question! When we had changed clothes completely, and I had even forced upon him as a gift, which he well deserved, the gold watch and seals of my family, we parted; and when his body was discovered, many weeks afterwards, the face, as I understand, from the mutilations of bruises and corruption, was no longer recog-
