A few words more and I lay aside the pen forever. Yet
why should I not relinquish it now? All that I have said is
preparatory to this scene, and my fingers, tremulous and
cold as my heart, refuse any further exertion. This must
not be. Let my last energies support me in the finishing of
this task. Then will I lay down my head in the lap of
death. Hushed will be all my murmurs in the sleep of the
grave.

Every sentiment has perished in my bosom. Even friendship
is extinct. Your love for me has prompted me to this
task; but I would not have complied if it had not been a
luxury thus to feast upon my woes. I have justly calculated
upon my remnant of strength. When I lay down the pen
the taper of life will expire; my existence will terminate
with my tale.

Now that I was left alone with Wieland, the perils of my
situation presented themselves to my mind. That this paroxysm
should terminate in havoc and rage it was reasonable
to predict. The first suggestion of my fears had been disproved
by my experience. Carwin had acknowledged his
offences, and yet had escaped. The vengeance which I
had harbored had not been admitted by Wieland, and yet
the evils which I had endured, compared with those inflicted
on my brother, were as nothing. I thirsted for his
blood, and was tormented with an insatiable appetite for his
destruction; but my brother was unmoved, and had dismissed
him in safety. Surely thou wast more than man,
while I am sunk below the beasts.

Did I place a right construction on the conduct of Wieland?
Was the error that misled him so easily rectified?

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Were views so vivid and faith so strenuous thus liable to
fading and to change? Was there not reason to doubt the
accuracy of my perceptions? With images like these was my
mind thronged, till the deportment of my brother called
away my attention.

I saw his lips move and his eyes cast up to heaven. Then
would he listen and look back, as if in expectation of some
one's appearance. Thrice he repeated these gesticulations
and this inaudible prayer. Each time the mist of confusion
and doubt seemed to grow darker and to settle on his understanding.
I guessed at the meaning of these tokens. The
words of Carwin had shaken his belief, and he was employed
in summoning the messenger who had formerly communed
with him, to attest the value of those new doubts. In vain
the summons was repeated, for his eye met nothing but vacancy,
and not a sound saluted his ear.

He walked to the bed, gazed with eagerness at the pillow
which had sustained the head of the breathless Catharine,
and then returned to the place where I sat. I had no power
to lift my eyes to his face; I was dubious of his purpose;
this purpose might aim at my life.

Alas! nothing but subjection to danger, and exposure to
temptation, can show us what we are. By this test was I
now tried, and found to be cowardly and rash. Men can
deliberately untie the thread of life, and of this I had deemed
myself capable. It was now that I stood upon the brink of
fate, that the knife of the sacrificer was aimed at my heart,
I shuddered and betook myself to any means of escape,
however monstrous.

Can I bear to think—can I endure to relate the outrage
which my heart meditated? Where were my means of safeto?
Resistance was vain. Not even the energy of despair
could set me on a level with that strength which his terrific
prompter had bestowed upon Wieland. Terror enables us
to perform incredible feats; but terror was not then the
state of my mind; where then were my hopes of rescue?

Methinks it is too much. I stand aside, as it were, from
myself; I estimate my own deservings; a hatred, immortal
and inexorable, is my due. I listen to my own pleas, and
find them empty and false; yes, I acknowledge that my

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guilt surpasses that of mankind; I confess that the curses
of a world, and the frowns of a deity, are inadequate to my
demerits. Is there a thing in the world worthy of infinite
abhorrence? It is I.

What shall I say! I was menaced, as I thought, with
death, and, to elude this evil, my hand was ready to inflict
death upon the menacer. In visiting my house, I had made
provision against the machinations of Carwin. In a fold of
my dress an open penknife was concealed. This I now
seized and drew forth. It lurked out of view; but I
now see that my state of mind would have rendered the
deed inevitable if my brother had lifted his hand. This
instrument of my preservation would have been plunged into
his heart.

O, insupportable remembrance! hide thee from my view
for a time; hide it from me that my heart was black enough
to meditate the stabbing of a brother! a brother thus supreme
in misery; thus towering in virtue!

He was probably unconscious of my design, but presently
drew back. This interval was sufficient to restore me to
myself. The madness, the iniquity of that act which I had
purposed rushed upon my apprehension. For a moment I
was breathless with agony. At the next moment I recovered
my strength, and threw the knife with violence on
the floor.

The sound awoke my brother from his reverie. He
gazed alternately at me and at the weapon. With a movement
equally solemn he stooped and took it up. He placed
the blade in different positions, scrutinizing it accurately,
and maintaining, at the same time, a profound silence.

Again he looked at me, but all that vehemence and loftiness
of spirit which had so lately characterized his features,
were flown. Fallen muscles, a forehead contracted into
folds, eyes dim with unbidden drops, and a ruefulness of
aspect which no words can describe, were now visible.

His looks touched into energy the same sympathies in me,
and I poured forth a flood of tears. This passion was quickly
checked by fear, which had now no longer my own, but
his safety for their object. I watched his deportment in
silence. At length he spoke;

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“Sister,” said he, in an accent mournful and mild, “I
have acted poorly my part in this world. What thinkest
thou? Shall I not do better in the next?”

I could make no answer. The mildness of his tone astonished
and encouraged me. I continued to regard him
with wistful and anxious looks.

“I think,” resumed he, “I will try. My wife and my
babes have gone before. Happy wretches! I have sent
you to repose, and ought not to linger behind.”

These words had a meaning sufficiently intelligible. I
looked at the open knife in his hand and shuddered, but
knew not how to prevent the deed which I dreaded. He
quickly noticed my fears, and comprehended them. Stretching
towards me his hand, with an air of increasing mildness;
“Take it,” said he; “Fear not for thy own sake, nor for
mine. The cup is gone by, and its transient inebriation is
succeeded by the soberness of truth.

“Thou angel whom I was wont to worship! fearest thou,
my sister, for thy life? Once it was the scope of my labors
to destroy thee, but I was prompted to the deed by heaven;
such, at least, was my belief. Thinkest thou that thy death
was sought to gratify malevolence? No. I am pure from
all stain. I believed that my God was my mover!

“Neither thee nor myself have I cause to injure. I have
done my duty, and surely there is merit in having sacrificed
to that, all that is dear to the heart of man. If a devil has
deceived me, he came in the habit of an angel. If I erred,
it was not my judgment that deceived me, but my senses.
In thy sight, Being of beings! I am still pure. Still will I
look for my reward in thy justice!”

Did my ears truly report these sounds? If I did not
err, my brother was restored to just perceptions. He knew
himself to have been betrayed to the murder of his wife
and children, to have been the victim of infernal artifice;
yet he found consolation in the rectitude of his motives. He
was not devoid of sorrow, for this was written on his countenance;
but his soul was tranquil and sublime.

Perhaps this was merely a transition of his former madness
into a new shape. Perhaps he had not yet awakened
to the memory of the horrors which he had perpetrated.

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Infatuated wretch that I was! To set myself up as a model
by which to judge of my heroic brother! My reason taught
me that his conclusions were right; but conscious of the
impotence of reason over my own conduct; conscious of
my cowardly rashness and my criminal despair, I doubted
whether any one could be steadfast and wise.

Such was my weakness, that even in the midst of these
thoughts, my mind glided into abhorrence of Carwin, and I
uttered in a low voice, O! Carwin! Carwin! what hast
thou to answer for?

My brother immediately noticed the involuntary exclamation;
“Clara!” said he, “be thyself. Equity used to be
a theme for thy eloquence. Reduce its lessons to practice,
and be just to that unfortunate man. The instrument has
done its work, and I am satisfied.

“I thank thee, my God, for this last illumination! My
enemy is thine also. I deemed him to be man, the man
with whom I have often communed; but now thy goodness
has unveiled to me his true nature. As the performer of
thy behests, he is my friend.”

My heart began now to misgive me. His mournful aspect
had gradually yielded place to a serene brow. A new
soul appeared to actuate his frame, and his eyes to beam
with preternatural lustre. These symptoms did not abate,
and he continued:

“Clara! I must not leave thee in doubt. I know not
what brought about thy interview with the being whom thou
callest Carwin. For a time, I was guilty of thy error, and
deduced from his incoherent confessions that I had been
made the victim of human malice. He left us at my bidding,
and I put up a prayer that my doubts should be removed.
Thy eyes were shut, and thy ears sealed to the
vision that answered my prayer.

“I was indeed deceived. The form thou hast seen was
the incarnation of a demon. The visage and voice which
urged me to the sacrifice of my family, were his. Now,
he personates a human form; then he was environed with
the lustre of heaven.

“Clara,” he continued, advancing closer to me, “thy
death must come. This minister is evil, but he from whom

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his commission was received is God. Submit then with all
thy wonted resignation to a decree that cannot be reversed
or resisted. Mark the clock. Three minutes are allowed
to thee, in which to call up thy fortitude, and prepare thee
for thy doom.” There he stopped.

Even now, when this scene exists only in memory, when
life and all its functions have sunk into torpor, my pulse
throbs, and my hairs uprise; my brows are knit, as then;
and I gaze around me in distraction. I was unconquerably
averse to death; but death, imminent and full of agony as
that which was threatened, was nothing. This was not the
only or chief inspirer of my fears.

For him, not for myself, was my soul tormented. I might
die, and no crime, surpassing the reach of mercy, would
pursue me to the presence of my judge; but my assassin
would survive to contemplate his deed, and that assassin
was Wieland!

Wings to bear me beyond his reach I had not. I could
not vanish with a thought. The door was open, but my
murderer was interposed between that and me. Of self-defence
I was incapable. The frenzy that lately prompted
me to blood was gone; my state was desperate; my rescue
was impossible.

The weight of these accumulated thoughts could not be
borne. My sight became confused; my limbs were seized
with convulsion; I spoke, but my words were half
formed:—

“Spare me, my brother! Look down, righteous Judge!
snatch me from this fate! take away this fury from him, or
turn it elsewhere!”

Such was the agony of my thoughts, that I noticed not
steps entering my apartment. Supplicating eyes were cast
upward, but when my prayer was breathed, I once more
wildly gazed at the door. A form met my sight; I shuddered
as if the God whom I invoked were present. It was
Carwin that again intruded, and who stood before me, erect
in attitude, and steadfast in look!

The sight of him awakened new and rapid thoughts. His
recent tale was remembered; his magical transitions and
mysterious energy of voice. Whether he were infernal or

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miraculous, or human, there was no power and no need
to decide. Whether the contriver or not of this spell, he
was able to unbind it, and to check the fury of my brother.
He had ascribed to himself intentions not malignant.
Here now was afforded a test of his truth. Let him interpose,
as from above; revoke the savage decree which the
madness of Wieland has assigned to heaven, and extinguish
forever this passion for blood!

My mind detected at a glance this avenue to safety.
The recommendations it possessed thronged as it were together,
and made but one impression on my intellect. Remoter
effects and collateral dangers I saw not. Perhaps
the pause of an instant had sufficed to call them up. The
improbability that the influence which governed Wieland
was external or human; the tendency of this stratagem to
sanction so fatal an error, or substitute a more destructive
rage in place of this; the sufficiency of Carwin's mere
muscular forces to counteract the efforts, and restrain the
fury of Wieland, might, at a second glance, have been discovered;
but no second glance was allowed. My first
thought hurried me to action, and, fixing my eyes upon
Carwin I exclaimed—

“O wretch! once more hast thou come? Let it be to
abjure thy malice; to counterwork this hellish stratagem;
to turn from me and from my brother, this desolating rage!

“Testify thy innocence or thy remorse; exert the powers
which pertain to thee, whatever they be, to turn aside
this ruin. Thou art the author of these horrors! What
have I done to deserve thus to die? How have I merited
this unrelenting persecution? I adjure thee, by that God
whose voice thou hast dared to counterfeit, to save my life!

“Wilt thou then go? leave me! Succorless!”

Carwin listened to my entreaties unmoved, and turned
from me. He seemed to hesitate a moment; then glided
through the door. Rage and despair stifled my utterance.
The interval of respite was passed; the pangs reserved for
me by Wieland, were not to be endured; my thoughts
rushed again into anarchy. Having received the knife from
his hand, I held it loosely and without regard; but now it
seized again my attention, and I grasped it with force.

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He seemed to notice not the entrance or exit of Carwin.
My gesture and the murderous weapon appeared to have
escaped his notice. His silence was unbroken; his eye,
fixed upon the clock for a time, was now withdrawn; fury
kindled in every feature; all that was human in his face
gave way to an expression supernatural and tremendous. I
felt my left arm within his grasp.

Even now I hesitated to strike. I shrunk from his assault,
but in vain.

Here let me desist. Why should I rescue this event
from oblivion? Why should I paint this detestable conflict?
Why not terminate at once this series of horrors?—Hurry
to the verge of the precipice, and cast myself forever beyond
remembrance and beyond hope?

Still I live; with this load upon my breast; with this
phantom to pursue my steps; with adders lodged in my
bosom, and stinging me to madness; still I consent to live!

Yes, I will rise above the sphere of mortal passions; I
will spurn at the cowardly remorse that bids me seek impunity
in silence, or comfort in forgetfulness. My nerves
shall be new strung to the task. Have I not resolved? I
will die. The gulf before me is inevitable and near. I
will die, but then only when my tale is at an end.