Серце-викривач

           Hehadbeensayingtohimself —"Itisnothingbutthewindinthechimney —itisonlyamousecrossingthefloor," or"Itismerelyacricketwhichhasmadeasinglechirp." Yes,hehadbeentryingtocomforthimselfwiththesesuppositions: buthehadfoundallinvain. Allinvain;becauseDeath,inapproachinghimhadstalkedwithhisblackshadowbeforehim, andenvelopedthevictim. Anditwasthemournfulinfluenceoftheunperceivedshadow thatcausedhimtofeel —althoughheneithersawnorheard—tofeelthepresenceofmyheadwithintheroom. 

           WhenIhadwaitedalongtime,verypatiently, withouthearinghimliedown, Iresolvedtoopenalittle—avery,verylittlecreviceinthelantern. SoIopenedit—youcannotimaginehowstealthily, stealthily—until,atlengthasimpledimray, likethethreadofthespider, shotfromoutthecreviceandfellfulluponthevultureeye. 

           Itwasopen—wide,wideopen —andIgrewfuriousasIgazeduponit. Isawitwithperfectdistinctness —alladullblue,withahideousveiloverit thatchilledtheverymarrowinmybones; butIcouldseenothingelseoftheoldman’sfaceorperson: forIhaddirectedtherayasifbyinstinct,preciselyuponthedamnedspot. 

           AndhaveInottoldyou thatwhatyoumistakeformadnessisbutover-acutenessofthesense? —now,Isay,therecametomyearsalow,dull,quicksound, suchasawatchmakeswhenenvelopedincotton. Iknewthatsoundwell,too. Itwasthebeatingoftheoldman’sheart.