As I raised my face from my clasped hands, my eyes fell full upon a form standing in the open doorway.  There, where on the night in which Lilian’s long struggle for reason and life had begun, the Luminous Shadow had been beheld in the doubtful light of a dying moon and a yet hazy dawn; there, on the threshold, gathering round her bright locks the aureole of the glorious sun, stood Amy, the blessed child!  And as I gazed, drawing nearer and nearer to the silenced house, and that Image of Peace on its threshold, I felt that Hope met me at the door—­Hope in the child’s steadfast eyes, Hope in the child’s welcoming smile!

“I was at watch for you,” whispered Amy.  “All is well.”

“She lives still—­she lives!  Thank God, thank God!”

“She lives—­she will recover!” said another voice, as my head sunk on Faber’s shoulder.  “For some hours in the night her sleep was disturbed, convulsed.  I feared, then, the worst.  Suddenly, just before the dawn, she called out aloud, still in sleep: 

“’The cold and dark shadow has passed away from me and from Allen—­ passed away from us both forever!’

“And from that moment the fever left her; the breathing became soft, the pulse steady, and the color stole gradually back to her cheek.  The crisis is past.  Nature’s benign Disposer has permitted Nature to restore your life’s gentle partner, heart to heart, mind to mind—­”

“And soul to soul,” I cried in my solemn joy.  “Above as below, soul to soul!” Then, at a sign from Faber, the child took me by the hand and led me up the stairs into Lilian’s room.

Again those dear arms closed around me in wifelike and holy love, and those true lips kissed away my tears—­even as now, at the distance of years from that happy morn, while I write the last words of this Strange Story, the same faithful arms close around me, the same tender lips kiss away my tears.

Thomas De Quincey

The Avenger

“Why callest thou me murderer, and not rather the wrath of God burning after the steps of the oppressor, and cleansing the earth when it is wet with blood?”

That series of terrific events by which our quiet city and university in the northeastern quarter of Germany were convulsed during the year 1816, has in itself, and considered merely as a blind movement of human tiger-passion ranging unchained among men, something too memorable to be forgotten or left without its own separate record; but the moral lesson impressed by these events is yet more memorable, and deserves the deep attention of coming generations in their struggle after human improvement, not merely in its own limited field of interest directly awakened, but in all analogous fields of interest; as in fact already, and more than once, in connection with these very events, this lesson has obtained the effectual attention of Christian kings and princes assembled in congress.  No tragedy, indeed, among all the sad ones by which the charities of the human heart or of the fireside have ever been outraged, can better merit a separate chapter in the private history of German manners or social life than this unparalleled case.  And, on the other hand, no one can put in a better claim to be the historian than myself.