That side on which the light
could not fall, lay in deep shadow, which occasionally gave to the rocks
and small projecting precipices an appearance of monstrous and unnatural
life. Having passed through the tangled mazes of the glen, he at length
reached its bottom, along which ran a brook, such as in the description
of the poet,--
----In the leafy month of June,
Unto the sleeping woods all night,
Singeth a quiet tune."
Here he stood, and looked upon the green winding margin of the
streamlet--but its song he heard not. With the workings of a guilty
conscience, the beautiful in nature can have no association. He looked
up the glen, but its picturesque windings, soft vistas, and wild
underwood mingling with gray rocks and taller trees, all mellowed by the
moonbeams, had no charms for him. He maintained a profound silence--but
it was not the silence of peace or reflection. He endeavored to recall
the scenes of the past day, but could not bring them back to his memory.
Even the fiery tide of thought, which, like burning lava, seared his
brain a few moments before, was now cold and hardened.
He could remember nothing. The convulsion of his mind was over, and his
faculties were impotent and collapsed.
In this state he unconsciously retraced his steps, and had again reached
the paddock adjoining his house, where, as he thought, the figure of his
paramour stood before him.
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