owed by the outrages of desperation,
and a rushing to death.

For the present, I neglected to ask myself what motive brought him
hither. I was only fearful of the effects to flow from the sight of the
dead. Yet could it be long concealed from him? Some time and speedily
he would obtain this knowledge. No stratagems could considerably or
usefully prolong his ignorance. All that could be sought was to take
away the abruptness of the change, and shut out the confusion of
despair, and the inroads of madness: but I knew my brother, and knew
that all exertions to console him would be fruitless.

What could I say? I was mute, and poured forth those tears on his
account, which my own unhappiness had been unable to extort. In the
midst of my tears, I was not unobservant of his motions. These were of
a nature to rouse some other sentiment than grief or, at least, to mix
with it a portion of astonishment.

His countenance suddenly became troubled. His hands were clasped with a
force that left the print of his nails in his flesh. His eyes were fixed
on my feet. His brain seemed to swell beyond its continent. He did not
cease to breathe, but his breath was stifled into groans. I had never
witnessed the hurricane of human passions. My element had, till lately,
been all sunshine and calm. I was unconversant with the altitudes and
energies of sentiment, and was transfixed with inexplicable horror by
the symptoms which I now beheld.

After a silence and a conflict which I could not interpret, he lifted
his eyes to heaven, and in broken accents exclaimed, "This is too much!
Any victim but this, and thy will be done. Have I not sufficiently
attested my faith and my obedience? She that is gone, they that have
perished, were linked with my soul by ties which only thy command would
have broken; but here is sanctity and excellence surpassing human. This
workmanship is thine, and it cannot be thy will to heap it into ruins."

Here suddenly unclasping his hands, he struck one of them against his
forehead, and continued--"Wretch! who made thee quicksighted in the
councils of thy Maker? Deliverance from mortal fetters is awarded to
this being, and thou art the minister of this decree."

So saying, Wieland advanced towards me. His words and his motions were
without meaning, except on one supposition. The death of Catharine was
already known to him, and that knowledge, as might have been suspected,
had destroyed his reason. I had feared nothi