and destroyed. She was no longer that happy creature who in earlier youth
wandered with me on the banks of the lake and talked with ecstasy of our
future prospects. The first of those sorrows which are sent to wean us from
the earth had visited her, and its dimming influence quenched her dearest
smiles.
When I reflect, my dear cousin, said she, on the miserable death of
Justine Moritz, I no longer see the world and its works as they before
appeared to me. Before, I looked upon the accounts of vice and
injustice that I read in books or heard from others as tales of ancient
days or imaginary evils; at least they were remote and more familiar to
reason than to the imagination; but now misery has come home, and men
appear to me as monsters thirsting for each other s blood. Yet I am
certainly unjust. Everybody believed that poor girl to be guilty; and
if she could have committed the crime for which she suffered, assuredly
she would have been the most depraved of human creatures. For the sake
of a few jewels, to have murdered the son of her benefactor and friend,
a child whom she had nursed from its birth, and appeared to love as if
it had been her own! I could not consent to the death of any human
being, but certainly I should have thought such a creature unfit to
remain in the society of men. But she was innocent. I know, I feel
she was innocent; you are of the same opinion, and that confirms me.
Alas! Victor, when falsehood can look so like the truth, who can
assure themselves of certain happiness? I feel as if I were walking on
the edge of a precipice, towards which thousands are crowding and
endeavouring to plunge me into the abyss. William and Justine were
assassinated, and the murderer escapes; he walks about the world free,
and perhaps respected. But even if I were condemned to suffer on the
scaffold for the same crimes, I would not change places with such a
wretch.
I listened to this discourse with the extremest agony. I, not in deed,
but in effect, was the true murderer. Elizabeth read my anguish in my
countenance, and kindly taking my hand, said, My dearest friend, you
must calm yourself. These events have affected me, God knows how
deeply; but I am not so wretched as you are. There is an expression of
despair, and sometimes of revenge, in your countenance that makes me
tremble. Dear Victor, banish these dark passions. Remember the
friends around you, who centre all their hopes in you. Have we lost
the power of rendering you happy? Ah! While we love, while we are
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