As the sense of my guilty negligence waxed sharper and
stronger, my Conscience began to sway heavily back and forth; and when my
aunt, after a little pause, said in a grieved tone, "Since you never once
went to see her, maybe it will not distress you now to know that that
poor child died, months ago, utterly friendless and forsaken!"
My Conscience could no longer bear up under the weight of my sufferings,
but tumbled headlong from his high perch and struck the floor with a
dull, leaden thump. He lay there writhing with pain and quaking with
apprehension, but straining every muscle in frantic efforts to get up.
In a fever of expectancy I sprang to the door, locked it, placed my back
against it, and bent a watchful gaze upon my struggling master. Already
my fingers were itching to begin their murderous work.
"Oh, what can be the matter!" exclaimed by aunt, shrinking from me, and
following with her frightened eyes the direction of mine. My breath was
coming in short, quick gasps now, and my excitement was almost
uncontrollable. My aunt cried out:
"Oh, do not look so! You appal me! Oh, what can the matter be? What is
it you see? Why do you stare so? Why do you work your fingers like
that?"
"Peace, woman!" I said, in a hoarse whisper. "Look elsewhere; pay no
attention to me; it is nothing--nothing.
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