SECOND THOUGHTS.
For--again he must go through that room!
No other entrance is open--not a window, not a door: all close as a
prison: and only by the way he went, by the same must he return.
He trembled all over, as a palsied man, when he touched the lock: with
stiffening hair, and staring eyes, he peeped in at that well-remembered
chamber: he entered--and crept close up to the corpse, stealthily and
dreadingly--horror! what if she be alive still?
SHE WAS.
Not quite dead--not quite dead yet! a gurgling in the bruised throat--a
shadowy gleam of light and life in those protruded eyes--an irregular
convulsive heaving at the chest: she might recover! what a fearful
hope: and, if she did, would hang him--ha! he went nearer; she was
muttering something in a moanful way--it was, "Simon did it--Simon did
it--Simon did it--Si--Si--Simon did--" he should be found out!
Yet once again, for the last time, the long-suffering Mercy of the Lord
stood like Balaam's angel in the way, pleading with that miserable man
at the bed-side of her whom he had strangled. And even then, that
Guardian Spirit came not with chiding on his tongue, but He uttered
words of hope, while his eyes were streaming with sorrow and with pity.
"Most wretched of the sinful sons of men, even now there may be mercy
for thee, even now plenteous forgiveness. True, thou must die, and pay
the earthly penalty of crimes like thine: but do my righteous bidding,
and thy soul shall live. Go to that poor, suffocating creature--cherish
the spark of life--bind up the wounds which thou hast rent, pouring in
oil and wine: rouse the house--seek assistance--save her life--confess
thy sin--repent--and though thou diest for this before the tribunal of
thy fellows, God will yet be gracious--he will raise again her whom thou
hadst slain--and will cleanse thy blood-stained soul."
Thus in Simon's ear spake that better conscience.
But the reprobate had cast off Faith; he could not pledge the Present
for the Future; he shuddered at the sword of Justice, and would not
touch the ivory sceptre of Forgiveness. No: he meditated horrid
iteration--and again the fiend possessed him! What! not only lose the
crock of gold, but all his own bright store? and give up every thing of
this world's good for some imaginary other, and meekly confess, and
meanly repent--and--and all this to resuscitate that hated old aunt of
his, who would hang him, and divorce him from his gold?
No! he must do the deed again--see, she is moving--she will recover! her
chest heaves visibly--she breathes--she speaks--she knows me--ha!
down--down, I say!
Then, with deliberate and damning resolution--to screen off temporal
danger, and count his golden hoards a little longer--that awful criminal
touched the throat again: and he turned his head away not to see that
horrid face, clutched the swollen gullet with his icy hands, and
strangled her once more!
"This time all is safe," said Simon. And having set all smooth as
before, he stole up to his own chamber.