oted 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. Wieland knows not that
mysterious voices and appearances were likewise witnessed by me. Carwin
may be ignorant of those which misled my brother. Thus may his answers
unwarily betray himself to ruin.

Such might be the consequences of my frantic precipitation, and these,
it was necessary, if possible, to prevent. I attempted to speak, but
Wieland, turning suddenly upon me, commanded silence, in a tone furious
and terrible. My lips closed, and my tongue refused its office.

"What art thou?" he resumed, addressing himself to Carwin. "Answer me;
whose form--whose voice--was it thy contrivance? Answer me."

The answer was now given, but confusedly and scarcely articulated. "I
meant nothing--I intended no ill--if I understand--if I do not mistake
you--it is too true--I did appear--in the entry--did speak. The
contrivance was mine, but--"

These words were no sooner uttered, than my brother ceased to wear the
same aspect. His eyes were downcast: he was motionless: his respiration
became hoarse, like that of a man in the agonies of death. Carwin seemed
unable to say more. He might have easily escaped, but the thought which
occupied him related to what was horrid and unintelligible in this
scene, and not to his own danger.

Presently the faculties of Wieland, which, for a time, were chained
up, were seized with restlessness and trembling. He broke silence. The
stoutest heart would have been appalled by the tone in which he spoke.
He addressed himself to Carwin.

"Why art thou here? Who detains thee? Go and learn better. I will meet
thee, but it must be at the bar of thy Maker. There shall I bear witness
against thee."

Perceiving that Carwin did not obey, he continued; "Dost thou wish me
to complete the catalogue by thy death? Thy life is a worthless thing.
Tempt me no more. I am but a man, and thy presence may awaken a fury
which may spurn my controul. Begone!"

Carwin, irresolute, striving in vain for utterance, his complexion
pallid as death, his knees beating one against another, slowly obeyed
the mandate and withdrew.

Chapter XXV

A few words more and I lay aside the pen for ever. Yet why should I not
relinquish it now? All that I have said is preparatory to this scene,
and my fingers, tremulous and cold as