My right hand, grasping the unseen knife, was still disengaged.
It was lifted to strike. All my strength was
exhausted, but what was sufficient to the performance of
this deed. Already was the energy awakened, and the
impulse given, that should bear the fatal steel to his heart.
when—Wieland shrunk back; his hand was withdrawn.
Breathless with affright and desperation, I stood, freed from
his grasp; unassailed; untouched.

Thus long had the power which controled the scene
forborne to interfere; but now his might was irresistible;
and Wieland in a moment was disarmed of all his purposes.

[figure description] Page 213.[end figure description]

A voice, louder than human organs could produce, shriller
than language can depict, burst from the ceiling, and commanded
him—to hold!

Trouble and dismay succeeded to the steadfastness that
had lately been displayed in the looks of Wieland. His eyes
roved from one quarter to another, with an expression of
doubt. He seemed to wait for a further intimation.

Carwin's agency was here easily recognised. I had besought
him to interpose in my defence. He had flown. I
had imagined him deaf to my prayer, and resolute to see
me perish; yet he disappeared merely to devise and execute
the means of my relief.

Why did he not forbear when this end was accomplished?
Why did his misjudging zeal and accursed precipitation
overpass that limit? Or meant he thus to crown
the scene, and conduct his inscrutable plots to this consummation?

Such ideas were the fruit of subsequent contemplation.
This moment was pregnant with fate. I had no power to
reason. In the career of my tempestuous thoughts, rent
into pieces, as my mind was, by accumulating horrors, Carwin
was unseen and unsuspected. I partook of Wieland's
credulity, shook with his amazement, and panted with his
awe.

Silence took place for a moment; so much as allowed
the attention to recover its post. Then new sounds were
uttered from above.

“Man of errors! cease to cherish thy delusion; not
heaven or hell, but thy senses have misled thee to commit
these acts. Shake off thy frenzy, and ascend into rational
and human. Be lunatic no longer.”

My brother opened his lips to speak. His tone was
terrific and faint. He muttered an appeal to heaven. It
was difficult to comprehend the theme of his inquiries.
They implied doubt as to the nature of the impulse that
hitherto had guided him, and questioned whether he had
acted in consequence of insane preceptions.

To these interrogatories the voice, which now seemed to
hover at his shoulder, loudly answered in the affirmative.
Then uninterrupted silence ensued.

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Fallen from his loftly and heroic station; now finally
restored to the perception of truth; weighed to earth by the
recollection of his own deeds; consoled no longer by a
consciousness of rectitude, for the loss of offspring and
wife—a loss for which he was indebted to his own misguided
hand; Wieland was transformed at once into the
man of sorrows!

He reflected not that credit should be as reasonably denied
to the last, as to any former intimation; that one might
as justly be ascribed to erring or diseased senses as the
other. He saw not that this discovery in no degree affected
the integrity of his conduct; that his motives had lost none
of their claims to the homage of mankind; that the preference
of supreme good, and the boundless energy of duty,
were undiminished in his bosom.

It is not for me to pursue him through the ghastly
changes of his countenance. Words he had none. Now
he sat upon the floor, motionless in all his limbs, with his
eyes glazed and fixed; a monument of wo.

Anon a spirit of tempestuous but undesigning activity
seized him. He rose from his place and strode across the
floor, tottering and at random. His eyes were without
moisture, and gleamed with the fire that consumed his vitals.
The muscles of his face were agitated by convulsion. His
lips moved, but no sound escaped him.

That nature should long sustain this conflict was not to
be believed. My state was little different from that of my
brother. I entered, as it were, into his thoughts. My heart
was visited and rent by his pangs—Oh that thy frenzy
had never been cured! that thy madness, with its blissful
visions, would return! or, if that must not be, that thy scene
would hasten to a close! that death would cover thee with
his oblivion!

What can I wish for thee? Thou who hast vied with
the great preacher of thy faith in sanctity of motives,
and in elevation above sensual and selfish! Thou whom thy
fate has changed into parricide and savage! Can I wish for
the continuance of thy being? No.

For a time his movements seemed destitute of purpose.
If he walked; if he turned; if his fingers were entwined

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with each other; if his hands were pressed against opposite
sides of his head with a force sufficient to crush it into pieces;
it was to tear his mind from self contemplation; to waste
his thoughts on external objects.

Speedily this train was broken. A beam appeared to be
darted into his mind, which gave a purpose to his efforts.
An avenue to escape presented itself; and now he eagerly
gazed about him; when my thoughts became engaged by
his demeanor, my fingers were stretched as by a mechanical
force, and the knife, no longer heeded or of use, escaped
from my grasp, and fell unperceived on the floor. His eye
now lighted upon it; he seized it with the quickness of
thought.

I shrieked aloud, but it was too late. He plunged it to
the hilt in his neck; and his life instantly escaped with the
stream that gushed from the wound. He was stretched at
my feet; and my hands were sprinkled with his blood as he
fell.

Such was thy last deed, my brother! For a spectacle
like this was it my fate to be reserved! Thy eyes were
closed—thy face ghastly with death—thy arms, and the
spot where thou lyedst, floated in thy life's blood! These
images have not, for a moment, forsaken me. Till I am
breathless and cold, they must continue to hover in my
sight.

Carwin, as I said, had left the room, but he still lingered
in the house. My voice summoned him to my aid; but I
scarcely noticed his re-entrance, and now faintly recollect
his terrified looks, his broken exclamations, his vehement
avowals of innocence, the effusions of his pity for me, and
his offers of assistance.

I did not listen—I answered him not—I ceased to upbraid
or accuse. His guilt was a point to which I was indifferent.
Ruffian or devil, black as hell or bright as angels,
thenceforth he was nothing to me. I was incapable of
sparing a look or a thought from the ruin that was spread
at my feet.

When he left me, I was scarcely conscious of any variation
in the scene. He informed the inhabitants of the hut
of what had passed, and they flew to the spot. Careless

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of his own safety, he hasted to the city to inform my friends
of my condition.

My uncle speedily arrived at the house. The body of
Wieland was removed from my presence, and they supposed
that I would follow it; but no, my home is ascertained;
here I have taken up my rest, and never will I go hence,
till, like Wieland, I am borne to my grave.

Importunity was tried in vain; they threatened to remove
me by violence—nay, violence was used; but my soul
prizes too dearly this little roof to endure to be bereaved of
it. Force should not prevail when the hoary locks and
supplicating tears of my uncle were ineffectual. My repugnance
to move gave birth to ferociousness and frenzy
when force was employed, and they were obliged to consent
to my return.

They besought me—they remonstrated—they appealed
to every duty that connected me with him that made me,
and with my fellow-men—in vain. While I live I will not
go hence. Have I not fulfilled my destiny?

Why will ye torment me with with your reasonings and
reproofs? Can ye restore to me the hope of my better
days? Can ye give me back Catharine and her babes?
Can ye recall to life him who died at my feet?

I will eat—I will drink—I will lie down and rise up at your
bidding—all I ask is the choice of my abode. What is
there unreasonable in this demand? Shortly will I be at
peace. This is the spot which I have chosen in which to
breathe my last sigh. Deny me not, I beseech you, so slight
a boon.

Talk not to me, O my revered friend! of Carwin. He
has told thee his tale, and thou exculpatest him from all
direct concern in the fate of Wieland. This scene of havoc
was produced by an illusion of the senses. Be it so; I care
not from what source these disasters have flowed; it suffices
that they have swallowed up our hopes and our existence.

What his agency began, his agency conducted to a close.
He intended, by the final effort of his power, to rescue me
and to banish his illusions from my brother. Such is his
tale, concerning the truth of which I care not. Henceforth

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I foster but one wish—I ask only quick deliverance from
life and all the ills that attend it.—

Go wretch! torment me not with thy presence and thy
prayers.—Forgive thee? Will that avail thee when thy
fateful hour shall arrive? Be thou acquitted at thy own
tribunal, and thou needest not fear the verdict of others. If
thy guilt be capable of blacker hues, if hitherto thy conscience
be without stain, thy crime will be made more flagrant
by thus violating my retreat. Take thyself away from
my sight if thou wouldst not behold my death!

Thou art gone! murmuring and reluctant! And now
my repose is coming—my work is done!