I had imagined him deaf to my prayer, and resolute to see me perish: yet he disappeared merely to devise and execute the means of my relief.
Why did he not forbear when this end was accomplished?
Why did his misjudging zeal and accursed precipitation overpass that limit?
Or meant he thus to crown the scene, and conduct his inscrutable plots to this consummation?
Such ideas were the fruit of subsequent contemplation.

This moment was pregnant with fate.

I had no power to reason.

In the career of my tempestuous thoughts, rent into pieces, as my mind was, by accumulating horrors, Carwin was unseen and unsuspected.

I partook of Wieland's credulity, shook with his amazement, and panted with his awe.
Silence took place for a moment; so much as allowed the attention to recover its post.