I had besought him to
interpose in my defense. He had flown. I had imagined him deaf 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
meant he 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 tempestuous 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 as allowed the attention
to recover its post. Then 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.
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