15. XV.
“Meanwhile, what of Carl Werner? With a
fearful instinct he proceeded, upon leaving his
dwelling, to the place of meeting with the spectre.
Vainly did he strive against the fascination which
impelled him to seek the abbey. Why should he
so wilfully seek that which was so full of torture?
He had now no wish to hear the revelations of the
dead — he had no thought, certainly, to profit by
them, when brought by one whose very presence
was so terrific; still less did he desire to owe his
knowledge to a source so foul and fearful. These
were his thoughts, nor his thoughts merely.
These were his frequent resolves throughout the
day. `I will not go to-night,' his lips muttered
at all hours; yet, with the coming of evening, his
good resolutions failed him. A power which he
strove vainly to resist, drove him onward; and like
the criminal, reluctant yet compelled, he appeared
regularly at the appointed hour at the summons of
his tyrant. Carl felt that there was a judgment in
all this. He felt that it was a decree of heaven
against him for the unholy feelings and desires of
his heart. Yet, where, and when, and how, was
this to end? He dared not think! His knees
trembled beneath him as he put this question to
himself, and felt, with the increasing weakness
and misery of every moment, that it could end
only in his death.
“This conviction was despair. Despair has its
strength, but it is the strength accorded by a demon
at a fearful price. The price was hope and
peace — the penalty was the loss of two lives —
the life of the present, and the life to come. Carl
felt that they were already gone, and all his
thoughts were now given to the demon. The
principle of hate grew active in his fears, and the
principle of love grew feebler and feebler, in the
continual decay of his hopes. The strife was not
only against Carl Warner, but it was against the
sweet young wife of his bosom. He felt it to be
so, himself, as he found himself continually laboring
not to think of her.
“We need not say, that in the abbey that night,
the same hour of torture was passed by Carl, in
company with the demon, as before. The belief
that his friend was the victim and the slave of hell,
sent forth by the infernal monarch to perform a
duty which he dared not disobey, was the racking
conviction to Carl. Vainly he demanded of the
spectre to disavow the features he had assumed.
His prayer was idle. Would the principle of
hate yield up his chief vantage ground? As well
might he implore indulgence from that power,
whose only office is punishment. He raved to the
demon — defied his malice, and vainly flattered
himself that the passion which he showed to his
tormentor, was, in reality, a re-assertion of his virtue.
Thus do men hourly chain themselves with
their own sophisms. The very tumult in his soul,
and the violence of his lips, as they sprang from a
feeling of hostility, were, in truth, only so many
tributes to the principle of hate. The fearless
calm, the gentle earnestness of love, were not in
his heart. It was rather a place of fears and strife;
and every moment of his paroxysm, increased the
number of avenues through which sin might enter
and perpetuate its sway. The conflict nearly destroyed
the mortal. Almost exhausted, Carl
rushed from the ruins; and, this time, he left the
demon squat upon the tomb-stone, where he had
sat all the time of their conference, glowing and
grinning at the agony, and yelling forth his dreadful
laughter, as he beheld the flight of the victim.
