I have not lived so as to fear death; yet to perish by an
unseen and secret stroke, to be mangled by the knife of an
assassin, was a thought at which I shuddered: what had I done to
deserve to be made the victim of malignant passions?
But soft! was I not assured that my life was safe in all places but
one? And why was the treason limited to take effect in this spot?
I was everywhere equally defenseless. My house and chamber were at
all times accessible. Danger still impended over me; the bloody
purpose was still entertained, but the hand that was to execute it
was powerless in all places but one!
Here I had remained for the last four or five hours, without the
means of resistance or defense; yet I had not been attacked. A
human being was at hand, who was conscious of my presence, and
warned me hereafter to avoid this retreat. His voice was not
absolutely new, but had I never heard it but once before? But why
did he prohibit me from relating this incident to others, and what
species of death will be awarded if I disobey?
Such were the reflections that haunted me during the night, and
which effectually deprived me of sleep.
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