The family were then ordered to bed.
About eleven they were all asleep; and at the solemn hour of twelve he
heaped additional fuel upon the living turf, until the blaze shone with
scorching light upon everything around. Dark and desolating was the
tempest within him, as he paced, with agitated steps, before the
crackling fire.
"She is risen!" he exclaimed--"the spectre of all my crimes is risen to
haunt me through life! I am a murderer--yet she lives, and my guilt
is not the less! The stamp of eternal infamy is upon me--the finger of
scorn will mark me out--the tongue of reproach will sting me like that
of a serpent--the deadly touch of shame will cover me like a leper--the
laws of society will crush the murderer, not the less that his
wickedness in blood has miscarried: after that comes the black and
terrible tribunal of the Almighty's vengeance--of his fiery indignation!
Hush!--What sounds are those? They deepen--they deepen! Is it thunder?
It cannot be the crackling of the blaze! It is thunder!--but it speaks
only to my ear! Hush!--Great God, there is a change in my voice! It is
hollow and supernatural! Could a change have come over me? Am I living?
Could I have----Hah!--Could I have departed? and am I now at length
given over to the worm that never dies? If it be at my heart, I may feel
it.
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