I gave a shudder at this picture, which was drawn with horrible truth; but the energies of religion, and the hopes of futurity, rushed upon my soul, and sustained it in the dreadful trial. “Away, away,” said I, pushing him back. “I have made up my mind to the sacrifice, since better may not be. Whatever happens to my body, I am resolved not to risk my eternal soul for its sake.”
“Think again,” said he, “and make up your mind. If I leave you, your fate is irrevocable. Are you decided?”
“I am.”
“Only reflect once more. Consider how, by putting your name in this book, you will save yourself from a miserable death. Are you decided?”
“I am,” replied I firmly.
“Then, fool,” said he, while a frown perfectly unnatural to him corrugated his brow, and his eyes shot forth vivid glances of fire—“then, fool, I leave you to your fate. You shall never see me again.” So saying, he walked out of the room, dispensing with his usual bows and grimaces, and dashing the door fiercely after him, while I threw myself upon a couch in an agony of despair.
My doom was now sealed beyond all hope; for, going to the windows a few minutes thereafter, I beheld my own funeral, with my cousin at the head of the procession, acting as chief mourner. In a short time I saw the company returning from the interment. “All is over, then,” said I, wringing my hands at this deplorable sight. “I am the victim of some infernal agency, and must prepare for the dreadful sacrifice.” That night I was supremely wretched, tossing incessantly in bed, while sleep was denied to my wearied eyelids. Next morning my haggard look was remarked by my servant, who proposed sending for a physician; but this I would not allow, knowing that woe like mine was beyond the reach of medicine. The greater part of that day was spent in religious exercises, from which I felt considerable relief. The day after was the last I was to behold upon earth. It came, and I endeavoured by every means to subdue the terror which it brought along with it. On arising from bed, I sent for my servant, an elderly woman whom I had got to supply the place of Barnabas and Louise, and gave her one hundred gilders, being all the money I could find in Wolstang’s bureau. “Now, Philippa,” said I, “as soon as the clock of the study has struck three, come in, and you will find me dead. Retire, and do not enter till then.” She went away, promising to do all that I had ordered her.
During the interval I sat opposite the clock, marking the hours pass rapidly by. Every tick was as a death-knell to my ear—every movement of the hands, as the motion of a scimitar levelled to cut me in pieces. I heard all, and I saw all in horrid silence. Two o’clock at length struck. “Now,” said I, “there is but one hour for me on earth—then the dreadful struggle begins—then I must live again in the tomb only to perish miserably.” Half an hour passed, then forty minutes, then fifty, then fifty-five. I saw with utter despair the minute-hand go by the latter, and approach the meridian number of the dial. As it swept on, a stupor fell over my spirit, a mist swam before my eyes, and I almost lost the power of consciousness. At last I heard one strike aloud—my flesh creeped with dread; then two—I gave an universal shudder; then three, and I gasped convulsively, and saw and heard nothing further.