It is not for me to pursue him through the ghastly changes of his
countenance. Words he had none. Now he sat upon the floor,
motionless in all his limbs, with his eyes glazed and fixed, a
monument of woe.
Anon a spirit of tempestuous but undesigning activity seized him.
He rose from his place and strode across the floor, tottering and
at random. His eyes were without moisture, and gleamed with the
fire that consumed his vitals. The muscles of his face were
agitated by convulsions. His lips moved, but no sound escaped him.
That nature should long sustain this conflict was not to be
believed. My state was little different from that of my brother.
I entered, as it were, into his thoughts. My heart was visited and
rent by his pangs. "Oh that thy frenzy had never been cured! that
thy madness, with its blissful visions, would return! or, if that
must not be, that thy scene would hasten to a close!--that death
would cover thee with his oblivion!
"What can I wish for thee? Thou who hast vied with the great
Preacher of thy faith in sanctity of motives, and in elevation
above sensual and selfish! Thou whom thy fate has changed into
parricide and savage! Can I wish for the continuance of thy being?
No.
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