This is the midnight assignation to which he alluded.

Thus is the silence he maintained when attempting to open the door of my chamber, accounted for.

He supposed me absent, and meant, perhaps, had my apartment been accessible, to leave in it some accusing memorial.
Pleyel was no longer equally culpable.

The sincerity of his anguish, the depth of his despair, I remembered with some tendencies to gratitude.
Yet was he not precipitate?
Was the conjecture that my part was played by some mimic so utterly untenable?
Instances of this faculty are common.

The wickedness of Carwin must, in his opinion, have been adequate to such contrivances, and yet the supposition of my guilt was adopted in preference to that.
But how was this error to be unveiled?
What but my own assertion had I to throw in the balance against it?
Would this be permitted to outweigh the testimony of his senses?
I had no witnesses to prove my existence in another place.