" No, Miriam must not
keep her vow! She must! she must! she must, responded the moral sense,
slow, measured, dispassionate, as the regular fall of a clock's hammer.
"I will myself prevent her; I will find means, arguments and persuasions
to act upon her. I will so appeal to her affections, her gratitude, her
compassion, her pride, her fears, her love for me--I will so work upon
her heart that she will not find courage to keep her vow." She will! she
will! responded the deliberate conscience.
And so he walked up and down; vainly the fresh wind fanned his fevered
brow; vainly the sparkling stars glanced down from holy heights upon
him; he found no coolness for his fever in the air, no sedative for his
anxiety in the stillness, no comfort for his soul in the heavens; he
knew not whether he were indoors or out, whether it were night or day,
summer or winter, he knew not, wrapped as he was in the mantle of his
own sad thoughts, suffering as he was in the purgatory of his inner
life.
While Paul walked up and down, like a maniac, Miriam returned to her
room to pace the floor until nearly morning, when she threw herself,
exhausted, upon the bed, fell into a heavy sleep, and a third time,
doubtless from nervous excitement or prostration, suffered a repetition
of her singular vision, and awoke late in the morning, with the words,
"perform thy vow," ringing in her ears.
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