Breathing a short and silent prayer to Heaven,
While, as a penitent, she wrought herself
To open to his eye her hidden wounds.
Father, at length she said, all tongues amid
This general ruin shed their bitterness
On Roderick, load his memory with reproach,
And with their curses persecute his soul....
Why shouldst thou tell me this? exclaim’d the Goth,
From his cold forehead wiping as he spake
The death-like moisture; ... Why of Roderick’s guilt