It was the dead of night. All round reigned stillness and peace, the
peace of night! What a gentle sound those words convey, a sound akin
only to the word HOME! Fraught, like it, with sweetest balm, a fragrant
flower from long-lost paradise. Thou art at rest, Ascher, and in safe
shelter; the breathing of thy children is so restful, so tranquil...

Desist! desist! 'T is too late. Side by side with the peace of night,
there dwell Spirits of Evil, the never-resting, vagrant, home-destroying
guests, who enter unbidden into the human soul! Hark, the rustling of
their raven-hued plumage! They take wing, they fly aloft; 't is the
shriek of the vulture, swooping down upon the guileless dove.

Is there no eye to watch thee? Doth not thine own kin see thy foul deeds?

Desist!

'T is too late...

Open is the window, no grating noise has accompanied the unbolting of
the shutter... The evil spirits have taken care that the faintest sound
shall die away...even the rough iron obeys their voices...it is they who
have bidden: "Be silent; betray him not; he is one of us."

Even the key in the door of the old bureau is turned lightly and without
noise. Groping fingers are searching for a bulky volume. Have they found
it? Is there none there to cry in a voice of thunder: "Cursed be the
father who stretches forth his desecrating hand towards the things that
are his children's"?...