 Section 20 of Library of World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories. Volume 1. This is LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kevin Vink. Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories. Volume 1 by Julian Hawthorne Editor. Section 20. Wheelan's Madness by Charles Brockton Brown. After Carwin's confession of his powers of ventriloquism, all the mysteries are cleared up. Save one. The owner of the voice heard in Claire's chamber on the first night after the wanderer appeared at Mettingen. The Threatener on the edge of the precipice, the spy in Claire's closet and would-be intruder, the manipulator of the vile plot that destroyed her lover's confidence. All these hidden identities have materialized in the person of this one unhappy man. But while confessing the prying disposition which led to these sins and efforts to protect himself from discovery, Carwin still denies that Wheelan's mad acts were perpetrated at his instigation. I have uttered the truth. This is the extent of my offenses. You tell me a horrid tale of Wheelan being led to the destruction of his wife and children by some mysterious agent. You charge me with the guilt of this agency, but I repeat that the amount of my guilt has been truly stated. The perpetrator of Catherine's death wasn't known to me till now. Nay, it is still unknown to me. At that moment, the closing of a door in the kitchen was distinctly heard by us. Carwin started and paused. There is someone coming. I must not be found here by my enemies and need not since my purpose is answered. I had drunken with the most vehement attention, every word that he had uttered. I had no breath to interrupt his tales by interrogations or comments. The power that he spoke of with hitherto unknown to me, its existence was incredible. It was susceptible of no direct proof. He owns that his were the voice and face which I heard and saw. He attempts to give a human explanation of these phantasms, but it is enough that he owns himself to be the agent. His tales a lie and his nature devilish. As he deceived me, he likewise deceived my brother, and now do I behold the author of all our calamities. Such were my thoughts when his pause allowed me to think. I should have made him be gone if the silence had not been interrupted, but now I feared no more for myself, and the milkiness of my nature was curdled into hatred and rancor. Someone was near, and this enemy of God and man might be brought to justice. I reflected not that the Peter-natural power which he hitherto exerted would avail to rescue him from any toils in which his feet might be entangled. Meanwhile, looks and not words of menace and abhorrence were all I could bestow. He did not depart. He seemed dubious whether by passing out of the house or by remaining somewhat longer where he was, he should most endanger his safety. His confusion increased when the steps of one bare foot were heard upon the stairs. He threw anxious glances sometimes with the closet, sometimes at the window, and sometimes at the chamber door. Yet he was detained by some inexplicable fascination. He stood at his rude to the spot. As to me, my soul was bursting with detestation and revenge. I had no room for some myses and fears respecting him that approached. There was doubtless a human being, and would befriend me so far as to aid me in arresting this offender. The stranger quickly injured the room. My eyes and the eyes of Carl were at the same moment darted upon him. A second glance was not needed to inform us who he was. His locks were tangled and felled confusedly over his forehead and ears. His shirt was, of course, stuffed and open at the neck and breast. His coat was once of brightened fine texture, but now torn and tarnished with dust. His feet, his legs, and his arms were bare. His features were the seat of a wild and tranquil solemnity, but his eyes bespoke in quietude and curiosity. He advanced with a firm step, and looking as in search of someone, he saw me and stopped. He bent his sight on the floor, and, clenching his hands, appeared suddenly absorbed in meditation. Such were the figure and deputation of Wieland, such in his fallen state were the aspect and guise of my brother. Carwyn did not fail to recognize the visitant. Care for his own safety was apparently swallowed up in the amazement which was spectacle produced. His station was conspicuous, and he could not have escaped the roving glances of Wieland. Yet the latter seemed totally unconscious of his presence. Grief at this scene of ruin and blast was at first the only sentiment of which I was conscious. A fearful stillness ensued. At length, Wieland, lifting his hands which were locked in each other, to his breast exclaimed, Father, I thank thee, this is thy guidance, hither thou hast led me, that I might perform thy will. Yet let me not err, let me hear again thy messenger." He stood for a minute as if listening, but recovering from his attitude, he continued, It is not needed, as dastardly wetch, thus eternally questioning the behest of thy maker, weak in resolution, wailered in faith. He advanced to me, and after another pause resumed, Poor girl, a dismal fate has set its mark upon thee. Thy life is demanded as a sacrifice, prepare thee to die, make it not my office difficult by fruitless opposition, thy prayers might subdue stones, but none but he who enjoined my purpose can shake it. These words were a sufficient explanation of the scene. The nature of his frenzy, as described by my uncle, was remembered. I, who had sought death, was now thrilled with horror because it was near. Death in this form, death from the hand of a brother was thought upon with indescribable repugnance. In a state thus averging upon madness, my eye glanced upon Karwen. His astonishment appeared to have struck him motionless and dumb. My life was in danger, and my brother's hand was about to be imbued with my blood. I firmly believed that Karwen's were the instigation. I could rescue myself from this abhorred fate. I could dissipate this terminus illusion. I could save my brother from the perpetration of new horrors by pointing out the devil who seduced him, to hesitate a moment which was to perish. The thoughts gave strength to my limbs and energy to my accents. I started on my feet. Oh brother, spare me, spare thyself. There is thy betrayer. He counterfeited the voice and face of an angel for the purpose of destroying thee and me. He has this moment confessed it. He is able to speak where he is not. He is leagued with hell, but will not avow it, yet he confesses that the agency was his. My brother turned slowly his eyes and fixed them upon Karwen. Every joint in the frame of the ladder trembled. His complexion was paler than a ghost's. His eyes dared not meet that of Wieland, but wandered with an air of distraction from one space to another. Man said my brother in a voice totally unlike that which he had used to me. What art thou? The charge was had been made. Answer it. The visage, the voice, at the bottom of these stairs, at the hour of eleven. To whom did they belong? To thee. Twice did Karwen attempt to speak, but his words died away upon his lips. My brother resumed in a tone of greater viewments. Thou falterist. Faltering is ominous. Say yes or no. One word will suffice. But beware of falsehood. Was it a stratagem of hell to overthrow my family? Whatst thou, the agent? I now saw that the wrath which had been prepared for me was to be heaped upon another. The tale that I heard from him and his present trepidations were abundant testimonies of his guilt. But what if Wieland should be unreceived? What if he shall find his act to have proceeded not from a heavenly prompter but from human treachery? Will not his rage mount into whirlwind? Will not he tear limb from limb this devoted wretch? Instinctively I recalled from this image, but it gave place to another. Karwen may be innocent, but the impetuosity of his judge may misconstrue his answers into a confession of guilt. Wieland knows not that the mysterious voices and appearances were likewise witnessed by me. Karwen may be ignorant of those which misled my brother. Thus may his answers unwearily betray himself to ruin. Such might be the consequences of my French's precipitation, and these it was necessary if possible to prevent. I attempted to speak, but Wieland, turning suddenly upon me, commended silence in a tone furious and terrible. My lips closed and my tongue refused its office. What art thou, he resumed, addressing himself to Karwen? Answer me, whose form, whose voice, was it thy contrivance? Answer me! The answer was now given, but confusedly and scarcely articulated. I meant nothing. I intended no ill. If I understand, if I do not mistake you, it is too true. I did appear in the entry, did speak. The contrivance was mine, but these words were no sooner uttered than my brother ceased to wear the same aspect. His eyes were downcast. He was motionless. His desperation became hoarse like that of a man in the agonies of death. Karwen seemed unable to say more. He might have easily escaped, but the thought which occupied him related to what was horrid and unintelligible in this scene, and not to his own danger. Presently the faculties of Wieland, which, for a time, were chained up, were seized with restlessness and trembling, he broke silence. The stoutest heart would have been appalled by the tone in which he spoke. He addressed himself to Karwen. Why art thou here? Who detains thee? Go and learn better. I will meet thee, but it must be at the bar of the Maker. There I shall bear witness against thee. Perceiving that Karwen did not obey, he continued. Doth thou wish me to complete the catalogue by thy death? Thy life is a worthless thing. Tempt me no more. I am but a man, and thy presence may awaken a fury which may spurn my control. Be gone! Karwen, irresolute striving and vain for utterance, his conflection pallid his death, his knees beating one against another, slowly obeyed the mandate and withdrew. 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 finishing up this task. Then I will lay down my head in the lap of death. Hust will be all my murmurs in the sleep of the grave. Every sentiment has perished, 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, we lend the perils of my situation presented themselves to my mind. Though 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. Carwyn had acknowledged his offensive, 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 upon my brother were as nothing. I thirsted for his blood, and was tormented with an insatiable appetite for his destruction, but my brother wasn't moved, and had dismissed him in safety. Surely thou wast more than a man, while I am sunk below the beast. Did I place a right construction on the conduct of Wieland? Was the error that misled him so easily rectified? Were views so vivid in 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 with 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 he would listen and look back as if in expectation of someone's appearance. Thrice he repeated these gesticulations in this inaudible prayer. It chimed the midst 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 Carwyn had shaken his belief, and he was employed in summoning the messenger who had formally communed with him to attest the value of these new doubts. In vain the summons was repeated, for his eyes meant nothing but vacancy, not a sound slew to his ear. He walked to the bed, gazed with eagerness at the pillow which had sustained the head of the breathless Catherine 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, but his 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 within I now tried and found to be cowardly and rash. Men can deliberately untie the threat 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 to the outrage which my heart meditated? Where were my means of safety? 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 weland. Terror enables us to perform incredible feats. But terror was not within my state of mind, where then were my hopes of rescue? Me thinks it is too much. I stand aside as it were for 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 guilt surpasses that of mankind. I confess that the curses of a world and the frowns of a deedy 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 a provision against the machinations of Karwen. In a fold of my dress, an open pen knife was concealed. This I now seized and drew forth. It looked 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 instructment of my preservation would have been plunged into his heart. Oh, 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 inequity of the act which I had proposed 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 movement equally sawed, he swooped and took it back 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 ruthlessness of aspect which no words can describe were now visible. His looks touched into energy the same sympathies in me, and I poured forth the 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. Sister, said he, in an accent mournful and mild, I have acted poorly in my part in this world. What thinketh thou? Shall I not do better in the next? I could make no answer, but my illness 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 oppose 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 toward me his hand with an air of increasing mildness. Take it, said he, fear not for thy own sake, more 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, fears the thou my sister for thy life. Once it was a scope of my labor to destroy thee, but I was prompted to the deed by heaven, such at least it was my belief. Thinkest thou that thy death was sought to gratify my malevolence? No, I am pure from all strain. I believed that 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 that all that is dear is the heart of man. If a devil has deceived me, he came in the habit of an angel. If I aired, 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 and thy justice. Did my ears truly report these sounds? If I did not air, 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 whores which he had perpetrated, infatuated wretches 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 of my own conduct, conscious of my cowardly rashness and my criminal despair, I doubted whether anyone could be steadfast and wise. Such was my weakness, that even in the midst of these thoughts my mind glided into abhorrence of Karwen, and I uttered in the low voice, Oh Karwen, Karwen, was tath 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 a man, the man with whom I have often communed. But now thy goodness has unveiled to me his true nature. As a 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 soil appeared to actuate his frame, and his eyes to be with a pretty natural luster. 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 callst Karwen. For a time I was guilty of thy error, and deduced from this 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 to me the sacrifice of my family were his. Now he impersonates a human form. Then he was environed with the luster of heaven. Clara, he continued advancing closer to me. Thy death must come. This minister is evil, but he from whom his commission was received is God. Submit then with all thy wanted 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 depour, my pulse throb as my hairs uprise, my brows are knit as thin, and I gaze around me in distraction. I was incongruably 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 Willand. Wings to bear me beyond his reach I had not. I could not vanish with a thought. The door was open, but my murder was interposed between that and me. Of self-defense I was incapable. The frenzy that later 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 in my thoughts that I noticed not steps entering my apartment. Sublicating eyes were cast upward, but when my prayer was breezed, I once more wildly gazed at the door, a form at my sight. I shuddered as if the God whom I invoked were present. It was Carmen 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 the mysterious energy of voice. Whether he were infernal or 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 described to himself intentions not malignant. He now was afforded a test of his truth, let him interpose as from above, revoked the savage decree which the badness of Wieland had assigned to heaven, and distinguished 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 my intellect. Remotor effects and collateral dangers I saw not. Perhaps the pause of an instant had suffice to call them up. The improbability of the influence which governed Wieland was external or human. The tendency of a stratagem to sanction so fatal an error or substitute a more destructive rage in place of his. The insufficiency of Carmen's mere muscular forces to counteract the effort 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 Carmen, I exclaimed, O wretch, once more thou hast come, let it be to abjure thy malice, to counter work this hella 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 reserve 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. Will thou then go? Leave me, suckerless. Carmen 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 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. He seemed to notice not the entrance or exit of Carlin. My gesture and their 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 arm within his grasp. Even now I hesitated to strike. I sunk from his assault button in vain. He 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 spur the cowardly remorse that bids me seek impunity in silence or comfort and 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 tail is at an end. 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 a frightened desperation, I stood freed from his gasp, unassailed, untouched. Thus long had the power which controlled the scene foreborn to interfere, but now his might was irresistible, and Wieland in a moment was disarmed of all his purposes. A voice louder than human organs could produce, sureer than language can depict, burst from the ceiling and commanded him to hold. Trouble and dismay acceded 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 further intimation. Carwin's agency was here easily recognized. I had besought him to interpose in my defense. He had flown. I had imagined him death 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 minty 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 temptuous 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 has allowed the attention to recover its post. The 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 murdered 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 perceptions. Do these interrogators the voice which now seemed to hover at his shoulder loudly answered in the affirmative? Then uninterrupted silence ensued. Fallen from his lofty and heroic station, now finally restored to the perception of truth, weighed to earth by the recollection of his own deeds, consoled no longer 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 form or intimidation, that one might as justly be ascribing 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 God and the boundless energies 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 woe. A non-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 convulsions, 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 by rint and his pangs. Oh, that thy frenzy had never been cured, that thy madness was 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 has divide with the great preacher of thy faith in sanctity of motives, and in elevation of sensual and selfish, thou whom thy fate has changed into parasite 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 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 heated or of use, escaped from my grasp and fell unperceived on the floor. His eyes 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 steam 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 wasn't my fate to be reserved. Thy eyes were closed, thy face ghastly with death, thy arms in the spot where thou lyest floated with 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 had 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 of vows 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 abrade or accuse. His guilt was a point to which I was indifferent, ruffian or devil, black as hell or bright as angels, thence forced with nothing to me. I was incapable of sparing a look or thought from the ruins 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 what had passed, and they flew to the spot. Careless of his own safety, he hastened 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 rest, and never will I go hence, till, like Wieland, I am borne to my grave. Impunity was tried in vain. They threatened to remove me of my violence. Naive 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 were monstreated. They appealed to every duty that connected me with him, that made me and with my fellow man, in vain. While I live, I will not go hence. Have I not fulfilled my destiny? Why will ye tumult me with your reasonings and reproofs? Can ye restore to me the hope of my better days? Can ye give back to me Catherine 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 to breathe my last sigh. Deny me not, I beseech you, so slight a boon. Talk not to me, O my reverend friend of Carwyn. He has told thee his tale, and thou asculptest 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 in 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 I foster about 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 for the verdict of others. If thy guilt be capable of blacker hues, if thereto thy conscience be without strain, 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. End of Section 20, Recording by Kevin Vink. End of Library of the World's Best Mystery and Detective Stories, Volume 1, by Julian Hawthorne, Editor.