rance and beyond hope?

Still I live: with this load upon my breast; with this phantom to pursue
my steps; with adders lodged in my bosom, and stinging me to madness:
still I consent to live!

Yes, I will rise above the sphere of mortal passions: I will spurn at
the cowardly remorse that bids me seek impunity in silence, or comfort
in forgetfulness. My nerves shall be new strung to the task. Have I not
resolved? I will die. The gulph before me is inevitable and near. I will
die, but then only when my tale is at an end.

Chapter XXVI

My right hand, grasping the unseen knife, was still disengaged. It was
lifted to strike. All my strength was exhausted, but what was sufficient
to the performance of this deed. Already was the energy awakened,
and the impulse given, that should bear the fatal steel to his heart,
when--Wieland shrunk back: his hand was withdrawn. Breathless with
affright and desperation, I stood, freed from his grasp; unassailed;
untouched.

Thus long had the power which controuled the scene forborne to
interfere; but now his might was irresistible, and Wieland in a moment
was disarmed of all his purposes. A voice, louder than human organs
could produce, shriller than language can depict, burst from the
ceiling, and commanded him--TO HOLD!

Trouble and dismay succeeded to the stedfastness that had lately been
displayed in the looks of Wieland. His eyes roved from one quarter to
another, with an expression of doubt. He seemed to wait for a further
intimation.

Carwin's agency was here easily recognized. I had besought him to
interpose in my defence. 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 o