"Man," said my brother, in a voice totally unlike that which he had
used to me, "what art thou? The charge has 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 Carwin attempt to speak, but his words died away upon his
lips. My brother resumed, in a tone of greater vehemence:--
"Thou falterest. 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? Wast 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 undeceived! 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 recoiled from this image; but it gave place to
another. Carwin may be innocent, but the impetuosity of his judge
may misconstrue his answers into a confession of guilt.
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