From a paroxysm like this the worst might reasonably be dreaded, yet the
next step to destruction was not suddenly taken. I paused on the brink
of the precipice, as if to survey the depth of that frenzy that invaded
me; was able to ponder on the scene, and deliberate, in a state that
partook of calm, on the circumstances of my situation. My mind was
harassed by the repetition of one idea. Conjecture deepened into
certainty. I could place the object in no light which did not
corroborate the persuasion that, in the act committed, I had insured the
destruction of my lady. At length my mind, somewhat relieved from the
tempest of my fears, began to trace and analyze the consequences which I
dreaded.

The fate of Wiatte would inevitably draw along with it that of his
sister. In what way would this effect be produced? Were they linked
together by a sympathy whose influence was independent of sensible
communication? Could she arrive at a knowledge of his miserable and by
other than verbal means? I had heard of such extraordinary
copartnerships in being and modes of instantaneous intercourse among
beings locally distant. Was this a new instance of the subtlety of mind?
Had she already endured his agonies, and like him already ceased to
breathe?

Every hair bristled at this horrible suggestion. But the force of
sympathy might be chimerical. Buried in sleep, or engaged in careless
meditation, the instrument by which her destiny might be accomplished
was the steel of an assassin. A series of events, equally beyond the
reach of foresight with those which had just happened, might introduce,
with equal abruptness, a similar disaster. What, at that moment, was her
condition? Reposing in safety in her chamber, as her family imagined.
But were they not deceived? Was she not a mangled corpse? Whatever were