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starting as he looks upon it, staggers back some paces, till he is arrested by the pillar of the bed, against which he leans in a kind of stupor, letting the picture fall from his hands.) Merciful God! he's guilty!—am I thus? Garcio, a fearful thing is in my mind, And curse me not that I have harbour'd it, If that it be not so.—The wretched Baldwin, Upon his deathbed, in his frenzied ravings, Accused thee as the murderer of my brother: O pardon me that such a monstrous tale Had any power to move me!—Look upon me! Say that thou didst it not, and I'll believe thee. (A pause.) Thou dost not speak. What fearful look is that? Open thy lips! relieve me from this misery!