This was not the only or chief inspirer of my fears.
For him, not for myself, was my soul tormented.

I might die, and no crime, surpassing the reach of mercy, would pursue me to the presence of my Judge; but my assassin would survive to contemplate his deed, and that assassin was Wieland! Wings to bear me beyond his reach I had not.

I could not vanish with a thought.

The door was open, but my murderer was interposed between that and me.

Of self-defence I was incapable.