I even
conceived it to deserve deliberation. I questioned whether it was
not proper to admit, at a lonely spot, in a sacred hour, this man of
tremendous and inscrutable attributes, this performer of horrid deeds,
and whose presence was predicted to call down unheard-of and unutterable
horrors.

What was it that swayed me? I felt myself divested of the power to will
contrary to the motives that determined me to seek his presence. My mind
seemed to be split into separate parts, and these parts to have
entered into furious and implacable contention. These tumults gradually
subsided. The reasons why I should confide in that interposition which
had hitherto defended me; in those tokens of compunction which this
letter contained; in the efficacy of this interview to restore its
spotlessness to my character, and banish all illusions from the mind of
my friend, continually acquired new evidence and new strength.

What should I fear in his presence? This was unlike an artifice intended
to betray me into his hands. If it were an artifice, what purpose would
it serve? The freedom of my mind was untouched, and that freedom would
defy the assaults of blandishments or magic. Force was I not able to
repel. On the former occasion my courage, it is true, had failed at the
imminent approach of danger; but then I had not enjoyed opportunities of
deliberation; I had foreseen nothing; I was sunk into imbecility by my
previous thoughts; I had been the victim of recent disappointments
and anticipated ills: Witness my infatuation in opening the closet in
opposition to divine injunctions.

Now, perhaps, my courage was the offspring of a no less erring
principle. Pleyel was for ever lost to me. I strove in vain to assume
his person, and suppress my resentment; I strove in vain to believe in
the assuaging influence of time, to look forward to the birth-day of new
hopes, and the re-exaltation of that luminary, of whose effulgencies I
had so long and so liberally partaken.

What had I to suffer worse than was already inflicted?

Was not Carwin my foe? I owed my untimely fate to his treason. Instead
of flying from his presence, ought I not to devote all my faculties to
the gaining of an interview, and compel him to repair the ills of
which he has been the author? Why should I suppose him impregnable
to argument? Have I not reason on my side, and the power of imparting
conviction? Cannot he be made to see the justice of unravelling the maze
in