No. He was dead. I had killed him. What had I done? I had meditated
nothing. I was impelled by an unconscious necessity. Had the assailant
been my father, the consequence would have been the same. My
understanding had been neutral. Could it be? In a space so short, was it
possible that so tremendous a deed had been executed? Was I not deceived
by some portentous vision? I had witnessed the convulsions and last
agonies of Wiatte. He was no more, and I was his destroyer!

Such was the state of my mind for some time after this dreadful event.
Previously to it I was calm, considerate, and self-collected. I marked
the way that I was going. Passing objects were observed. If I adverted
to the series of my own reflections, my attention was not seized and
fastened by them. I could disengage myself at pleasure, and could pass,
without difficulty, from attention to the world within, to the
contemplation of that without.

Now my liberty, in this respect, was at an end. I was fettered,
confounded, smitten with excess of thought, and laid prostrate with
wonder! I no longer attended to my steps. When I emerged from my stupor,
I found that I had trodden back the way which I had lately come, and had
arrived within sight of the banker's door. I checked myself, and once
more turned my steps homeward.

This seemed to be a hint for entering into new reflections. "The deed,"
said I, "is irretrievable. I have killed the brother of my patroness,
the father of my love."

This suggestion was new. It instantly involved me in terror and
perplexity. How shall I communicate the tidings? What effect will they