I shrunk convulsively at its every sweep.
My eyes followed its outward or upward whirls with the eagerness of
the most unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spasmodically at
the descent, although death would have been a relief, oh! how
unspeakable! Still I quivered in every nerve to think how slight a
sinking of the machinery would precipitate that keen, glistening axe
upon my bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to quiver --the
frame to shrink. It was hope --the hope that triumphs on the rack
--that whispers to the death-condemned even in the dungeons of the
Inquisition.
I saw that some ten or twelve vibrations would bring the steel in
actual contact with my robe, and with this observation there
suddenly came over my spirit all the keen, collected calmness of
despair. For the first time during many hours --or perhaps days --I
thought. It now occurred to me that the bandage, or surcingle, which
enveloped me, was unique. I was tied by no separate cord. The first
stroke of the razorlike crescent athwart any portion of the band,
would so detach it that it might be unwound from my person by means of
my left hand. But how fearful, in that case, the proximity of the
steel! The result of the slightest struggle how deadly! Was it likely,
moreover, that the minions of the torturer had not foreseen and
provided for this possibility! Was it probable that the bandage
crossed my bosom in the track of the pendulum? Dreading to find my
faint, and, as it seemed, in last hope frustrated, I so far elevated
my head as to obtain a distinct view of my breast.
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