XIX

“I raised my head and regarded her with steadfast looks. I muttered something about death, and the injunctions of my duty. At these words she shrunk back, and looked at me with a new expression of anguish. After a pause, she clasped her hands, and exclaimed⁠— “ ‘O Wieland! Wieland! God grant that I am mistaken; but surely something is wrong. I see it: it is too plain: thou art undone⁠—lost to me and to thyself.’ At the same time she gazed on my features with intensest anxiety, in hope that different symptoms would take place. I replied to her with vehemence⁠— “ ‘Undone! No; my duty is known, and I thank my God that my cowardice is now vanquished, and I have power to fulfil it. Catharine! I pity the weakness of thy nature: I pity thee, but must not spare. Thy life is claimed from my hands: thou must die!’ “Fear was now added to her grief. ‘What mean you? Why talk you of death? Bethink yourself, Wieland: bethink yourself, and this fit will pass. O why came I hither! Why did you drag me hither?’ “ ‘I brought thee hither to fulfil a divine command. I am appointed thy destroyer, and destroy thee I must.’ Saying this I seized her wrists. She shrieked aloud, and endeavoured to free herself from my grasp; but her efforts were vain. “ ‘Surely, surely Wieland, thou dost not mean it. Am I not thy wife? and wouldst thou kill me? Thou wilt not; and yet⁠—I see⁠—thou art Wieland no longer! A fury resistless and horrible possesses thee⁠—Spare me⁠—spare⁠—help⁠—help⁠—’