ABSTRACT
Description is not adequate to express the horror of Waldorf, when his terrified senses once more returned. Panting and breathless, he sunk on the / ground, and his burdened mind seemed unable to take in the extent of agony that crowded on his ideas, like the indescribable swelling of a huge torrent; not a sigh or a tear relieved his heavy soul; the big mass of grief strangled all utterance, and lay cold on his bursting heart – the fixed stare of a madman gave way to a convulsive wandering – his quick pulse seemed to strike fire, and the crimson burnings of anguish were alternately usurped by the sickly dews of chilling misery. In one short moment, his child, the thread of his life, the sun of his existence, the budding hopes of his soul, torn, crushed, murdered! Where now his laughing eyes? Where now the sportive smiles of his blooming boy? Gravenitz was / also dead –his hands again imbrued in murder: thought was madness – his soul rushed to his bursting eyes – his heart-strings were distended – every nerve was racked – agony could go no farther, and his fainting spirits sunk into insensibility.
