ieks of owls?

"I had no time to yield to this impulse. The thought of approaching and
listening occurred to me. I had no doubt of which I was conscious. Yet
my certainty was capable of increase. I was likewise stimulated by a
sentiment that partook of rage. I was governed by an half-formed and
tempestuous resolution to break in upon your interview, and strike you
dead with my upbraiding.

"I approached with the utmost caution. When I reached the edge of the
bank immediately above the summer-house, I thought I heard voices from
below, as busy in conversation. The steps in the rock are clear of
bushy impediments. They allowed me to descend into a cavity beside
the building without being detected. Thus to lie in wait could only be
justified by the momentousness of the occasion."

Here Pleyel paused in his narrative, and fixed his eyes upon me.
Situated as I was, my horror and astonishment at this tale gave way to
compassion for the anguish which the countenance of my friend betrayed.
I reflected on his force of understanding. I reflected on the powers of
my enemy. I could easily divine the substance of the conversation that
was overheard. Carwin had constructed his plot in a manner suited to the
characters of those whom he had selected for his victims. I saw that the
convictions of Pleyel were immutable. I forbore to struggle against the
storm, because I saw that all struggles would be fruitless. I was calm;
but my calmness was the torpor of despair, and not the tranquillity of
fortitude. It was calmness invincible by any thing that his grief and
his fury could suggest to Pleyel. He resumed--

"Woman! wilt thou hear me further? Shall I go on to repeat the
conversation? Is it shame that makes thee tongue-tied? Shall I go on? or
art thou satisfied with what has been already said?"

I bowed my head. "Go on," said I. "I make not this request in the hope
of undeceiving you. I shall no longer contend with my own weakness. The
storm is let loose, and I shall peaceably submit to be driven by its
fury. But go on. This conference will end only with affording me a
clearer foresight of my destiny; but that will be some satisfaction, and
I will not part without it."

Why, on hearing these words, did Pleyel hesitate? Did some unlooked-for
doubt insinuate itself into his mind? Was his belief suddenly shaken
by my looks, or my words, or by some newly recollected circumstance?
Whencesoever it arose, it could not endure the test of d